Bird's Eye View
by Night Hawk 97
Summary: The Marauders Era: golden age for torturing staff. It wasn't all fun; it didn't remain a fairy tale. A troublesome Dark and benevolent Light Lord represent a deep fissure in society and Jenny Night, of unknown origins, is caught in the mess, not knowing what to believe. Her problems will rope in both sides of the conflict, prompting deception, betrayal and copious explosions.
1. Prologue

**A/N: I don't plan on writing one of the happily-ever-after stories that have been done to death. All I promise is not necessarily mutually exclusive fun and pain. If I begin to do anything of a predictable nature, kindly notify me and fire at will.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Potter universe, ideas, dragons, etc. I make no claim to those ideas and no money from this story. **

My wand rolls under an overly expensive mahogany coffee table and comes to a stop amidst the dust and the cobwebs. It is far out of reach, but by this point having it my hand would only serve as a small comfort rather than any defensive use. There is no way to amend the present circumstances, for now I am about as magical as a common newt, plus I happen to be staring down Voldemort's wand.

Yeah, I screwed up.

His flattened serpentine face is twisted into a furious sneer, those red eyes glower down at me. I feel fear, of course, but there is a resigned acceptance behind it. It takes away some of the sting, but doesn't quite lessen the hollow feeling that comes with defeat. It will all be over soon.

I struggle to sit up after the pain has subsided. I try to meet those red eyes again, and although my skin feels like it is burning, what I see sends a chill down my spine. No one mentioned how hard it is to look into the face of death. Especially when it's _that_ ugly.

Absently, through my fractured awareness, I wonder which particular thing I did instigated this personal grudge with our resident Dark Lord. Is it the stain I represent on the face of his ideal magical race? Or perhaps it was the indestructible howler I sent him that screamed about his heritage to the tune of muggle nursery rhymes? Come to think of it, he is probably miffed that I concealed a cheering charm within that letter, but I don't know, perhaps he's used to that kind of thing.

He still looks _really_ mad. Is that saying something about my singing ability?

I recognise Bellatrix Black as she summons my wand and it flies into her outstretched hand. The expression on her face is one of scorn and abhorrence. She's even more unhinged than I am.

Her lips curl into a sneer and she says something my brain can no longer process, but I don't need to know the specific wording, I can just about quote the 'you're not a witch' speech by now.

She snaps my wand and incinerates the remains, her wide hateful eyes darting over my face, eager for some display of suffering. I can't completely hide the pain and stick out my tongue to mask it as best I can.

I pay for that with another cruciatus curse, for longer this time.

I hold no deluded hope for a rescue. I am very scared and very alone. I just hope my death means something, or better yet, I hope my _life_ meant something.

My blood, both inside and outside my body, feels hot and the air in my lungs is dry and tastes of bile. It hurts to breathe, it hurts to remember, but in those brief last minutes I remember it all.


	2. Chapter 1

**A/N: No chairs were hurt in the making of this chapter.**

"Mum?" I called tentatively as I poked my head around the frayed wooden doorframe.

She was there, in the kitchen, but if she heard me she sure didn't show it.

Flies hovered over the stained dishes roughly piled in and around the sink, a thin sliver of light strained through the slight gap beneath the heavy moth-eaten curtains, and a pair of suspicious golden eyes glowered down at me from the dark space above the battered cupboards. I saw it all, yet noticed nothing, as tends to happen when things remain unchanged for too long. Wait, I lie: the dishes had further nurtured their furry covering and one of the chairs had been reduced to a splintered mess where it still lay in the centre of the kitchen. My bad.

Beside the remains of the unfortunate chair, perched stiff-backed in the remaining chair, was my mother. She may have been pretty once, eons ago. She held some appeal with her dark hair and skin, delicate features and brown eyes. But whatever beauty she had was lost; her eyes were empty, her lips were pressed into a tight frown and her hair and skin looked dull and sick from little sunlight.

She'd been that way since before I could remember, not the caring, loving, role model I'd only heard stories of. She wasn't the one to tell those stories either. I learnt to read young.

All she did was sit and think, staring at something only she could see. I didn't know what was on her mind, I knew better than to expect an answer if I asked. We didn't talk much and when we did we dithered on arduous topics, such as the weather. She never mentioned any other family.

We looked too similar, and it gave me no end of trouble. We had the same eyebrows, though my nose was perhaps slightly longer, my skin was unmarked by wrinkles and my black hair was shaggy and short; not even touching my shoulders. We both had large suspicious eyes, only whereas hers were brown, my hazel eyes were a flecked with green.

I was instantly recognisable as the infamous Mrs Night's little brat, the kid from that wicked lady in the shack down the street. The distrustful looks alone were enough to drive anyone nuts; it was like they were waiting for me to eat the other children. But I was better off alone anyway.

I softly padded around the various objects littering the grimy floor and cautiously approached the sitting figure.

"Mum?"

There was a long pause. Then the lady let out a deep breath; the first sign of irritation. Ah, so she was in one of _those_ moods.

"What?" she bit out tersely. I guess she didn't like me interrupting her... whatever it was she was doing. Plotting was a likely answer.

I fiddled with my dirty shirt uncertainly, "I need a way to get to the station tomorrow."

"And?"

"Could you, er, maybe please drive me?" I mumbled.

I was hoping, praying really, that she would say yes. It was my chance to get away from that place, to go to Hogwarts.

"No."

I held back a sigh, somehow I'd thought not. But I squared my narrow shoulders, not willing to give up.

"But we've already brought all the stuff, and if you take me I'll be gone for the whole year, I won't even come back for Easter or Christmas," I reasoned, just a hint of desperation creeping into my tone.

My mother's lips twitched upward in a sneer, "It takes over forty-five minutes to drive there. You should have left sometime yesterday if you plan to walk that far."

That was rude. My freedom was so close I could practically taste it.

She snorted, seeming to think the entire situation was rather amusing, "Well, if you can get there you can go."

That seemed as good an offer as I was going to get. As I backed out of the room, Scrap, the grizzled, tough tomcat and owner of the pair of the glowing golden eyes, lightly leapt from the cupboard and trotted after me. Scrap wasn't exactly the prettiest kitty out there. One might even go as far as to say his appearance was downright disturbing. One ear had been shredded to ribbons and he walked with a slight limp. His body bulged with muscles and his dappled grey coat was traversed with scars. It would take a special kind of person to find anything adorable in that. Such a being may not even exist.

But all that just added to his peculiar character. He was the smartest cat in the neighbourhood and he quickly picked up on the survival trend: when mum enters the room, you flee. Quickly. And without hesitation. He knew when I needed the comfort my mother could never give, and he possessed a stubbornness to rival my own. Ever since I found him, he'd been my only friend. I was impressed he'd survived as long as he had, with mum roaming the house and all, but he got a good feed- there was never any shortage of rats.

I quickly navigated to hall to my room. Well, actually it could be more accurately described as a garage. The twenty year old Ford occupied over half, leaving a small area that I was able to call my own. It was the best room in the house: the view opened onto the park and the garage door provided a handy escape when fleeing from a psychotic parent.

My bed was the first thing you noticed as it easily took up the most space. Like everything else in the house it was rough and worn-down. Although hard and uncomfortable, it was better than sleeping on the street, even if the curb didn't have bedbugs.

But with any luck I would be able to put that debate to the side for many months. My gaze travelled over the remainder of my belongings. My heart thumped excitedly as it took in my new wand, second-hand spellbooks, cauldron and all the other things your average witch or wizard was required to bring to Hogwarts.

I still had my letter, I vividly remembered the day it came a few months ago. It was handed to me by an incredibly short man, Professor Flitwick, I think his name was. At first I didn't believe him, I thought he was insulting me, but in my defence, telling someone they're a witch isn't usually a term of endearment in my neighbourhood.

Since then I'd divided my time between reading and re-reading my letter, counting down the days until September the first, and browsing through my new books. I was hoped that this wouldn't be some cruel joke, that magic was actually real, that dreams could come true.

But it would all be meaningly if I couldn't get there. With dear mother unwilling to provide the means, it was time for operation Last Resort.

...

Well there it was; King's Cross Station in all its glory. I'd never seen anything so huge, they certainly didn't have anything that large in Cheshires End, and the only thing that came close to the smell was my kitchen.

Scooping up Scrap in one arm and hauling my trunk with the other, I made my way towards the entrance. Every one of my meagre belongings had been unceremoniously dumped in the old trunk. It was pretty pathetic that my entire life could fit inside a single truck without a single half-hearted shove to get it closed. Well, except Scrap. He protested furiously when I tried to shut him in. But he'd followed me that far nonetheless.

I figured dear mum would be a bit cranky when she found out what I'd done. She'd likely go on an angry rampage and trash the house even further, with my room in the centre of her war path. So in the interest of my things, I decided to take them along.

I felt my lips twitch in the beginnings of a smirk. Oh yeah, she'd be pissed. It was almost a shame I had to miss it. Almost.

The first crime I'd committed was having a shower. An act of felony, I know. I decided it would be best to start the year without looking as I'd just clambered out of a mud pile. I washed my hair and brushed it with my mum's things. Apparently I'm not worthy of using her almighty shampoo. And she would notice too; whether she measures the amount in the bottle each day or scans it for foreign fingerprints, I may never know. The question was: had she noticed and was it already fuelling her anger, or would it be a lovely surprise to set her off again later?

The second act was sneaking into her room, 'borrowing' a few pounds, fleeing at the crack of dawn, jumping on a bus and catching it to the station without her explicit permission. I'm relatively certain that when she said 'find you own way' she didn't mean it in a literal sense. I could be wrong; her heart could have defrosted a couple degrees and she'd been encouraging me to use my initiative. But I doubt it.

Over all, my quickly devised plan had worked relatively well. I _may_ have underestimated the amount of money required to get to King's Cross and had to walk the last few miles in a city I was totally unfamiliar with, and I did arrive four hours early. But other than that it played out as perfectly as I could have hoped for.

The building was full of busy people bustling about in their busy lives. The noise was deafening. Trains pulled into platforms, others departed to their various destinations, and the people seemed to think it was necessary to scream at each other in order to be heard. I didn't like the noise and the crowd, people brushed against me and blocked my vision until all I could see was a churning chaotic blur of colours. All round me the deafening uproar seamed to form a solid formidable wall of noise. I could barely see, barely hear and at every turn I was jostled and pushed. I felt swamped and confused, it felt like there was a huge balloon inflating in my chest- I like to call it panic. All I wanted was to get out, but I couldn't; there was no way I was going back.

I scanned the platforms for 9 ¾. My mind wasn't working properly, I was just overwhelmed. Scrap wasn't entirely impressed either, and digging his claws into my arm was only one of the ways he chose to illustrate his displeasure. I couldn't remember what that little man, Flitwick, told me. There was something I had to do, there were spells to pass, or something, that were in place so normal people didn't find it by mistake.

Somewhere above me, hovering above the swirling mass of people, I saw the sign for platform 9. It was close, and common sense said 9 ¾ had to be somewhere near. I managed to make my way through the worst of the crowds to a brick barrier. But platform 9 ¾ was nowhere to be seen, it could've been on the other side of the station as far as I knew.

"Watch where you're going!" I barely had time to turn my head before someone the approximate size and weight of a small tractor slammed into me. I was sent hurtling backwards, I braced myself to hit the barrier, but instead of a painful stop, I kept falling. My surroundings flashed black before reappearing. The sound vanished, and so did all unbearable crowds. The platform was bare and near deserted, only one large red steam engine and a few families occupied the large open space.

I stumbled, dropping Scrap and my trunk, and fell flat on my ass.

'_What an entrance, I hope no one saw that.'_ But no such luck. Of the two early families, both were staring in my direction with eyebrows raised. Ignoring their gazes, a relieved smile spread across my face as I saw the platform marker 9 ¾ swinging above me.

I didn't have much trouble finding an empty compartment, if you can imagine. I settled into the first one I came across with my arms aching from dragging the trunk. I set Scrap down and he immediately began exploring the little nooks and crannies of the cabin. I wasn't tall enough to put my trunk in the overhead racks, so I left it on the seat beside me.

I rummaged amongst my things until I found the book I had been looking for: 'A Beginners Guide to Transfiguration'. Everything inside that second-hand cover fascinated me. Well, almost everything. I wasn't too keen on the mysterious stain on page 48, or the spell, Anteoculatia, that turned hair into antlers as it seemed rather pointless. Surely there were more interesting ways to ruin someone's day.

Hours later, the steady trickle of people turned into something more like a flood until the whistle blew and the train slowly began to inch forward. As it picked up speed I spared a glance out the window. Parents were yelling final goodbyes and younger siblings were running after the train, waiting for the day they would join us. I was surprised to feel a painful tug in my chest and my eyes dropped back to my book. The words suddenly didn't hold the same excitement they used to.

A little later, the compartment door was shrugged open by a red haired girl and her greasy counterpart. They were absorbed in a heated discussion and barely noticed me.

The girl paused, throwing a friendly smile my way, "Could we please sit here?"

I nodded, turning back to my book as they returned to their conversation. I didn't really follow much of what was said, but I soon regretted letting them in the compartment. I could barely think with their relentless yapping.

From what I did gather though, I assumed this girl was Lily and the boy was called Sev. What an unfortunate name, and to think I thought mine was bad. They were bagging the crap out of some poor blokes that, as I was led to assume, were the devils representatives on Earth.

The next interruption was from the lady with the food trolley. We all stared at it hungrily, but none of us had any money to spend on such things. Instead I deliberately stared out of the window, watching hundreds of droplets stream down the glass, determined to ignore my growling stomach and avoid thinking about how tasty my poor cat was looking.

I was dressed in my robes and very ready to leave before the train had even begun to slow down; I'd heard some whispers about a feast and I my mouth was watering in anticipation. I couldn't exactly gorge myself at home, the only food in the house was from the meagre amount of money mum gave me for the task of slavishly fetching it from the shops, which she carefully monitored.

Consequently, I was skinny. As in a too-thin-to-be-healthy skinny. My robes hung off me like a scarecrow, it didn't help that they were many sizes too big. My less-than-average height only made me look even more like an eight year old.

The rain was bucketing down and only a few seconds later I was drenched to the bone. After that I basically gave up trying to shield myself from the pounding torrent.

"Firs' years! Firs' years over 'ere!" I stared up at the giant, for there really was no other way to describe him, and my jaw dropped in awe. He stood as tall as two men and his head was shrouded in a fuzzy black mass of hair. Two kind, beetle-like eyes glowed kindly down at us. He was definitely not helping my mild size inferiority complex.

A sizable group of people my age slowly dethatched themselves from the rest of the jostling throng and nervously approached the giant. Well, almost all of them. One hyperactive boy with a mop of messy black hair bounced his way right up to him.

"Hi Hagrid!" Messy-haired-boy called as he jumped to a stop.

"'Ey James. How've yer been? Yer mum's managed to keep yer under control I 'ope," Hagrid replied, just as another slightly-less-messy-haired-than-hyperactive-messy- haired-but-also-a-black-haired-boy pushed through the crowd, panting slightly.

"There you are! Now look at what you've done: you lost Remmy," he (let's just call him the other boy) accused.

I saw Lily and Sev stiffen and glare. My best guess was that those were the blokes from the train. They looked harmless enough. But then again, so do bunnies, and rabbits are vicious and evil.

As a group, while the older students filed away, we trudged to the boats. The action reminded me of robots, only we were half as intelligent and way less cool. My first mistake of the evening was to naively climb in the boat with this James bloke, the other boy and a scrawny guy with light brown eyes, pale skin and an apparent proficiency with injury. I sat in the back watching the other boy mercilessly poking the boys sitting in front of him with a slightly amused grin refusing to leave my face.

"Look Jam," the other boy hollered over the pounding rain, "I found Remmy!"

James turned and shook his head ruefully, scattering yet more water, though there was a smirk on his lips, "I can see that, Siri."

The other boy, or the one newly classified as 'Siri', made a face and continued yelling with unnecessary volume, "Don't call me that!"

"Then don't call me Jam."

"And my name is Remus, not Remmy," the other boy added. I glanced up in interest.

"Your name's Remus?" I asked curiously, "Were you perhaps named after Remus, one of the brothers who were raised by wolves? You know, the ones who supposedly killed their greedy king, then took their rightful place on the throne, founded Rome, and then ended up arguing, fighting, and he was killed by his brother Romulus?"

"What?" James and Siri asked simultaneously, eyebrows raised. Siri looked as if he was silently laughing at me. James was just confused. Remus shrugged and looked down into the dark water, his face pale.

I stared at my feet, shifting awkwardly in embarrassment. I managed to mutter something along the lines of, "Well I didn't write the story."

Just dazzling boys with my highly developed social skills, that's me! I was so proud right then I could've poked myself in the eye.

The air skimmed over the water, rustling my hair and making me shiver. But Siri didn't seem to believe that we were quite freezing enough.

I jumped about a foot in the air and desperately grabbed the side of the boat as it rocked suddenly. My heart was in my throat and beating rapidly. I whirled around shakily to glare at the boy beside me. Siri was staring up at the sky, leaning against the back of the boat with his legs propped up on the side. He was the picture of false innocence.

He grinned wickedly at my distress, "Afraid of a little water?"

I glanced back to the dark horizon where the lights of the train station were barely visible as a flickering haze. All around us there was only murky water lapping hungrily at the side of the wooden boat and a solid curtain filled the surrounding air. I decided that yes, I definitely did not want to go for a swim.

"If we fall in, you will be the first to drown," I promised darkly. This only made the fool's grin widen. He leant forward to whisper something to James and Remus, the former mirroring Siri's evil grin. This caused the impending doom senses to kick in and I clutched the side of the boat in a death grip again.

Instantly, James and Siri threw their weight against the side and the boat dipped violently. I yelled and Hagrid's huge head swivelled around, "Just what do yer think yer doin'?"

They rocked the boat again, only this time the side dipped beneath the surface and water streamed in. In the background I dimly heard the mad cackling of, presumably, those twits, Siri and James. The boat slowly pitched sideways and I was hurled deep into the dark water. I had just enough time to yell some colourful profanity and curse Siri and every member of his family, neighbours and friends to hell and back.

I couldn't have possibly prepared myself for just how chilly it was. I was paralysed with shock, and not to mention cold. But oddly, it felt as if I my entire body was being stabbed with red-hot needles. Coming to my senses I swam for the surface, but my muscles were stiff and unresponsive, slightly complicating things. I managed to claw my way upwards only for my head to collide with something solid above me.

Straining my eyes, I was scarcely able to make out the wooden texture of a boat. My lungs were now begging for air, my limbs were quickly growing heavier and I was beginning to panic. I tried to claw my way sideways but the water seemed to be getting thicker, everything around me was dark. At least I couldn't feel the cold anymore; I was far too numb for that.

My brain was a muddled mess but I wasn't too confused to know that I could easily die. And then I was going to come back and murder that Siri bloke.

I think I could feel myself slowly sinking, but I wasn't sure. I wasn't certain of anything.

At first I thought I'd imagined something curling around my waist, but it's grip tightened and suddenly I was rushing up through the water. My limp body broke the surface in a shower of water droplets that were lost amongst the pouring rain.

I took a shuddering breath, then another. My mind was flooded with cool, beautiful, life-giving oxygen. My senses returned, which meant I could feel the bitting cold again, unfortunately. I heard screaming, but it seemed to be coming from far below me. My head swivelled around what I saw caused me to swear quite loudly.

I was hundreds of metres in the air. Ok, admittedly, in hindsight it was probably closer to a hundred feet, but when you're being slowly waved through the air supported by nothing but a giant tentacle, it sure looks closer to hundreds of metres.

After the initial shock of finding myself suspended high above the lake rather than drowning in it, I found I was more afraid. "Gah, not heights! Put me back, I'll drown, thanks."

From there, through the veil of rain, I could see the outline of a huge castle with hundreds of warm and comforting windows. The spectacular sight was mirrored on the slightly rippled surface of the lake.

Below me, the moonlight shone off the upturned faces of my fellow first years. The sensible ones would've been thanking a greater power that they weren't in the shoes of those… well, we'll call them 'boys' for formalities sake, but they wouldn't be much longer.

The tentacle began to gently lower me towards the boats. It was a deep red, slimy and as thick as a tree trunk. Now that is some major calamari right there! As I got closer I could see that Hagrid had managed to right the boat and haul Siri and James out of the water. How unfortunate.

A second tentacle was trying to shake Remus into our boat, who clung to it in terror, when a third tentacle had to forcefully detach him and both sunk back into the water with a dull gurgling sound.

The tentacle gently placed me on the floor of the boat beside Remus, while Siri and James looked at us with a mixture of jealousy and shameless awe.

If I hadn't been shivering from head to toe, thoroughly soaked and freezing, and entirely too cold to move properly, I would've pummelled them then and there.

"That. Was. Freaking. Awesome!" Siri shouted, throwing his fist in the air. Then his face morphed to one of disappointment, "Why didn't the squid pick us up too?"

"It knows who's worth s-saving," I managed to force past my chattering teeth, "Hagrid's just too chivalrous to let you idiots drown."

"Sh-shame that," Remus agreed, glaring.

Siri leant over the side of the boat and stared into the water, "But it's so cool, do you think it's still down there?"

I snorted, where else would it be? "If you hurry, you might be able to get its number," I muttered cynically.

Siri crossed his arms and rolled his eyes, "Well aren't you just a little ray of sunshine? You're alive aren't you?"

"You won't be much longer!" How dare he speak to me about sunshine after as good as throwing me in the lake! He was saved a painful and gruesome demise by Hagrid, who, being the stupidly chivalrous giant that he was, chose that moment to dump his huge, tent-like moleskin coat over him.

"Wrap that 'round yerselves, we'll get yer some warming draughts when we get to the castle," he said, giving James and Siri a warning glare, before tapping his pink umbrella and sending the boats gliding across the surface of the lake again.

Siri surfaced from the mountainous folds of the cloak, grinning. I was really beginning to hate that smirk.

He opened his arms and patted the bench beside him, giving me a sly wink, "You heard him; snuggle up Sunshine."

I glared, remaining where I was on the floor. I was sheltered from the wind there and as far away from the dreaded boy as physically possible without going for another dip, "I'd rather freeze, but once I defrost, you are a dead man."


	3. Chapter 2

I quickly stumbled ashore, glad I was finally free of the boats but mainly relieved to put a steady ten metres between Siri, whose real name I learnt was Sirius, and myself.

The pest hadn't shut up the entire boat ride. Whereas I would have been content to wallow in a mushy pile of self-pity, he had to tease me. With the full encouragement and support of his stupid friend, of course. They were all quite happy to squeeze under the coat and annoy me while I was soaked even further. If that was even possible.

"Wait, Sunshine!" I was surprised, to say the least, to detect an apologetic note in his voice.

"What?" I bit out tersely. I was surprised but no less pissed.

"'m sorry," he was staring at his shoes, his mates looking at him as if he was some foreign monster. My eyebrows practically disappeared into my hair.

'_Was that... well, a pretty pathetic attempt at apologising, but an attempt nonetheless?' _

"I shouldn't have flipped the boat. It wasn't funny and I'm sorry I scared you. It was dangerous and I never asked if you were ok."

Quite a crowd had gathered around us, most gaping. But then Sirius lifted his head, and instead of the guilty expression I was expecting, my eyes were met with his infuriating smirk.

"So; are you ok, do you need mouth to mouth resuscitation?"

For a long moment I just stood there, shocked. Then, in a tidal wave of fury, every bit of pent up anger crashed down on me in the space of a second.

I launched myself at Sirius, crossing the distance between us in an instant. Practically howling with rage, I tackled him to the ground and smashed my scrawny fist into his chin. It was very therapeutic.

A huge hand fastened around the back of my robes and heaved me off Sirius. Seeing red and snarling furiously, I lashed out like a wild animal. But Hagrid wisely held me out of striking distance- six feet off the ground.

And _He_ had the guts to laugh. He had a shiny black eye and a bruised jaw, but he was rolling in the dirt cackling like a mad man. It was a strange bark, like a dog. It suited him rather well, the mutt. James eventually helped him to his feet, giggling and slapping high-fives.

I failed to spot what was so utterly amusing. Perhaps it was the sight of me swinging two metres above the ground pouting with my arms tightly crossed.

"Excuse me." A lady's voice spoke sharp and clearly, causing everyone to turn simultaneously. Except for _them,_ as they were physically and mentally impaired by laughter.

A woman was in the doorway, standing tall and proud. She had her hair tied in an immaculate bun and her lips pursed in a firm line. Her stern glare, below thin finely sculptured eyebrows, snapped between the giggling twits, Hagrid and finally me.

With a weary sigh, Hagrid gingerly lowered my feet to solid ground, shaking his shaggy head and muttering something along the lines of "There's one every year."

The strict woman continued to watch us with her tapered eyebrow's lowered, daring us to mess up the proceedings further, "I am Professor McGonagall. It is time for you to be sorted into your houses. There are Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff and Slytherin. We are behind schedule, the rest of the school is waiting, follow me."

No one really wanted to be the first one through the door. Suddenly even the cocky, confident boys seemed significantly more subdued. Sirius looked downright distraught. I allowed myself a moment to send a fiery glare in his general direction before sinking into my own little pit of concern.

My frantic thoughts were interrupted when I was jostled by the restless crowd. We grudgingly formed a rough line. Some small mousy haired boy was unceremoniously shoved to the front. His friends gave him a comforting pat on the back, but from where I stood it looked as if they were ensuring he didn't escape.

As we filed through the door that would inevitably lead to our doom, I shot a quick glance back outside to freedom. Of course the rain was beginning to let up. Typical.

The muffled whispers of the kids around me didn't do much to calm my nerves. No one seemed to have any idea what we were about to be put up against. The stories got wilder from one kid to the next. I heard tales about having to battle dragons and trolls, and how some kid's twice removed cousin had to kiss a hippogriff.

The huge room we entered took my breath away. It was lit by thousands of candles suspended in mid-air and at first glance the walls seemed to open to the sky. The hundreds of students sitting along four long tables watched us with differing levels of boredom and impatience.

Puzzling over what on earth a hippogriff was kept me occupied until our group stopped and spread out beneath a row of teachers, but under their gaze my anxiousness returned tenfold.

Before us on a small stool was an old black hat that was ripped and worn in several places. Then, after an expectant silence, a large tear opened like a mouth and the hat began to sing.

It sang about its own history, and it seemed quite proud to have once been owned by some Godric Gryffindor bloke. I just couldn't understand why a time before shampoo would evoke pleasant memories for a hat. I wondered if that was all it did all year; just sit around and write poetry about 'daring and chivalrous Gryffindor, loyal and hardworking Hufflepuff, wise and studious Ravenclaw, and cunning and pure Slytherin.'

The hall erupted in cheers and Professor McGonagall stepped forward. She stood above us with a scroll held tightly in her hand.

"When I call out your name I would like you to sit on the stool and I will place the sorting hat on your head. It will put you in the house most suited to you. The decision is final. Akeley Tanya..."

I let out a sigh of relief and heard many people around me do the same. A tall girl boldly strutted up to the stool. The hat was silent for a moment before, "SLYTHERIN!"

The table to the right clapped and cheered as Tanya took off the hat and went to join them. My scrutinising eyes narrowed suspiciously as I took in the Slytherins. One girl stood out amongst the rest. Her demeanour was dark and haughty and although she was beautiful, the only attention she and her house attracted were frosty glares.

"Black Sirius."

The dark Slytherin girl had been showing less than no interest, but when Sirius' name was called her head shot up to fix him with her piecing, slightly wild eyes.

Sirius resembled a man walking towards his execution. He turned to face the hall. When his eyes met the Slytherin girl's they instantly darkened and narrowed before he looked away. He was visibly shaking as McGonagall lower the hat on his head. I almost felt sorry for the guy. Then I remembered my encounter with the Squid and that sympathy mysteriously evaporated.

There was a long silence. The dark Slytherin girl was staring at him intently. He was muttering something repeatedly under his breath but I couldn't hear the words.

When the hat placed him in Gryffindor no one cheered. There was a stunned silence. I glanced around, searching for answers. Everyone looked shocked. The dark Slytherin girl looked as if she'd been punched. Sirius was the only one who moved. He let out a huge relieved sigh that must have been audible even from the back of the hall, and seemed to deflate with all the tension leaving his frame.

As Sirius stood, a girl from the far end of the Slytherin table, looking almost identical to her dark, moody house mate, leapt up and cheered, "Yeah! You go Sirius!"

The far table clad in red and gold enthusiastically joined her applause, some also getting to their feet. A huge smile threatened to split Sirius' face. He gave the girl who'd started the clapping a thumbs up, then turned his back on the Slytherins and nearly tripped in his haste to get to the Gryffindor table.

The dark Slytherin girl seemed to snap out of a trance. She rose slowly, shaking with fury and disbelief. She soon regained her former arrogant composure however. "Sirius Black! You disgrace, get back here and take your rightful place!" She screamed over the ruckus.

Sirius paused just before the Gryffindor table. He turned and gave a sly wink and salute to the dark Slytherin girl, who practically had steam billowing from her ears, before sitting down to a hoard of congratulations.

It took a while to get the crowd to settle down, but once it did the sorting continued as normal. The group of first years had slightly diminished, then it was my turn.

"Night Jenna."

After a few seconds I remembered that I had to actually walk up to the stool. I felt my anxiety returning, so I didn't have to kiss a hippogriff, but what if something went wrong and I dumbly sat there for hours while nothing happened? Or maybe it'd just dump me in Slytherin where I'd most likely be eaten by that scary girl.

I now understood how Sirius had felt walking up there. It really was like someone determining your fate. Maybe I was being a little drastic, but as the dark, musky fabric of the sorting hat fell over my eyes, it felt as if I wasn't being dramatic and pessimistic enough.

A strange voice filled my head, _"Yes there is some daring here, you have a bold nerve, that's for sure. But where to put you?" _

Did it want me to respond, was I supposed to sit up here under the scrutinising gaze of the entire school while making small talk with a hat? '_Hi Hat, nice weather we're having. Read any good minds lately?'_

"_Ah, dull wit, perhaps in a few years you will actually develop the ability to utter words of some level of intelligence. You have a bright mind, yes indeed, but I sense Ravenclaw is not the house for you." _

'_Ouch, insulted by ancient attire, that's damaging for the ego.'_ The hat ignoring me. Sure, I know when I'm not wanted.

"_You have cunning, but not much ambition, you would not fit in with the Slytherins. The Hufflepuffs value patience and hard work- no, just no, that leaves... GRYFFINDOR!"_

I'd walked half way to the Gryffindor table before I noticed the stupid grinning smirk and remembered my fate: seven years with Sirius Black. Just great.

...

"Sirius!"

Black turned excitedly, "Andy!" he called back, his face lighting up upon seeing the girl leave the end of the Slytherin table and make her way over. She was drawing many suspicious looks from the Gryffindors, which she calmly ignored. On closer inspection I realised her hair and eyes were brown, her features were soft and kind, and she looked younger than the first Slytherin girl.

Potter -the jerk managed to get sorted into Gryffindor after all- nudged Black in what he probably thought was an inconspicuous way, "Who's she?"

"My cousin Andromeda Black, and one of only a few of my decent relatives," he muttered back, shoving Potter over and making room for her to sit beside him.

"It nice to see you Sirius, been giving your parents trouble I trust," she said winking as she sat. "But I came to talk to you about Bella."

"I'm not afraid of her," Sirius said confidently, sparing a glare over his shoulder towards the dark Slytherin girl who was viciously stabbing her food.

Andy smiled proudly, "I know. But she's in her seventh year and you know how she is. Don't try to pick a fight with her, especial for the next few days. She may be a little cranky for a while."

Black snorted.

"Anyway," Andy said, wrapping an arm around him in a hug, "I'm proud of you Sirius, you're a good bloke. Just be careful in dark shadowy alleys from now on, okay?"

And then she left, throwing Black a reassuring smile over her shoulder as she returned to her place where she was immediately swarmed with questions. She casually waved them off and ate her meal.

I watched Black curiously through my eyelashes. He looked as overexcited as usual, but now it was more withdrawn and guarded. Something was obviously nagging at his mind, and when his friends weren't looking, he let the pretence slip to reveal a sad lonely boy. Maybe we weren't so different after all.

"So, Jenna, right? What did the hat say to you?" Lily asked, glaring at James while eating her meal, pulling me out of my thoughts.

I admired Lily for her ability to multitask and her obvious aversion towards all things James and Sirius, but I was not in the mood to talk. All I wanted to do was get dry, warm and put at least half a castle between Sirius and myself.

"Oh, you know," I shrugged dismissively, "It was very kind. Sweetly stated that I was too thick for Ravenclaw, lazy for Hufflepuff and Slytherin, then he decided Gryffindor would have to put up with me."

Lily giggled -perhaps she thought I was joking- and slung an arm around my shoulders, destroying my sacred personal space bubble and causing me to jump, "You're funny, in a... blunt, cold kinda way."

"Is that so?"

"Yep!" she said cheerfully, "I have the feeling we are going to become good friends."

We trudged up countless flights of stairs and each floor brought new surprises. The people moved and talked in their portraits, ghosts floated through walls, completely indifferent of the world going on around them, and even the stairs moved. Everything was alive with magic. Maybe, even with Black haunting the halls, the place wouldn't be half bad.

I was exhausted by the time we stumbled through the hidden portrait hole behind the painting of the Fat Lady. My eyelids were heavy and I was still damp and shivering. The first thing my eyes settled on was the roaring, warm, homely fire in the grate. It radiated its heat throughout the large circular room which was filled with squashy armchairs and tables.

Sitting on the back of the armchair closest to the fire was Scrap. His golden eyes blinked lazily, his furry back was facing the fire and absorbing the warmth. I told you he was smart.

The prefects pointed out the girl and boy dormitories but I didn't ascend the stairs just yet. Rather, I detached Lily from my arm and plodded over to the fire. I wasn't the only one with that in mind however.

I was halfway to the welcoming armchairs when I was roughly pushed aside by none other than Black and his friends. I had half a mind to abandon the cosy fire and trudge on up to bed when I heard an irritated hiss.

I watched the scene unfold with an amused smirk on my face. Sirius jumped about a foot in the air and spun around to face the armchair he'd been about to sit down on. Scrap puffed out his fur until he was twice his normal size, snarling softly. It was a warning: come within arm's reach at own risk. It's his way of saying hello. At least, that's how I always interpreted it.

"Relax, Sirius, it's just a cat," Remus said closing his eyes and folding his arms behind his head, settling into his own chair.

Black hesitated, unsure, "That's not a cat, that's a bloody mountain lion." Scrap looked distinctively pleased by that term of endearment. Or maybe he just recognised the underlining note of fear in his voice.

"I hate cats," Sirius muttered, making shooing motions with his hands. I nearly laughed as Scrap slowly and deliberately got comfortable and plonked himself back down, fixing Black with his yellow glare, challenging him.

"He likes you!" I cooed mockingly, walking over.

Black glared, "You touch him then, if you're so tough."

Oh that poor idiot. I laid my hand on Scrap's back, rustling the fur behind his ears, just the way I know he loves. He arched his back appreciatively with a loud rumbling purr.

I struggled to keep my face blank, "Yes, he's very scary." To emphasis my point, Scrap rolled over and purred again.

I swear I heard Remus snicker.

I lay back in the chair with a contented sigh, the heat removing the last traces of water. Scrap shifted until he was curled around my head in a protective halo.

"Whatever, there's nothing scary about that cat," Black said cockily, sauntering up to Scrap. His eyes flew open again, purr instantly turned into a growl, only louder this time, but Black ignored the warning signs. I'd hoped he would.

Snarling, Scrap sank his teeth and claws into Black's hand, who cried out in surprise. But Scrap didn't stop there. He leapt to his feet, pursuing a fleeing Black all the way to the foot of the boy's staircase. Then, skidding to a halt, he flicked his tail proudly as the last of Black's robes disappeared from view.

Who needs karma when you have cats?


	4. Chapter 3

**Third year:**

I stared out the train window watching the countryside fly by. Grass…more grass…ooh a tree! … wait, no, it was just a particularly dead-looking clump of grass. I snorted, '_Doesn't nature just go out of its way to be exciting?'_

I was heading to the castle for the third time, but the journey had never really made much of an impression, not since the first. It's pretty hard to top a squid's eye view. It felt as if just yesterday I was swinging through the air half drowned and frozen.

I sat morosely, counting down the minutes until I could get off the dull train, not that there was much to look forward to in the castle, either: Potions class, the draughty halls, homework, the insanity-inducing giggle squad and too many days blessed with the presence of the Marauders, to name a few.

The summer had not been overtly peasant. My mother wasn't the same person I left at the beginning of my second year. She vanished periodically, but to where I could never guess, and even attempted to clean the house. She wasn't very successful of course, but I was impressed she remembered where the front door was. She probably had to shift twenty tonnes of junk to uncover it as well. I'm not sure she was aware that we had a back door that was actually accessible. Even more disturbingly, she tried to involve herself in my affairs, repeatedly saying she was sorry that she hadn't been the role model I needed. It was an act, but I didn't know what for.

I didn't want to think about how Mum had changed or why. It was my own little way of dealing with trouble, best described simply as the Avoid and Ignore tactic. Don't try this at home kids, so far I've uncovered no evidence that this actually helps any situation. As a recommended alternative; hide in a dark corner and wallow in denial.

A loud crash from the corridor caught my attention. I quietly slid open the compartment door and saw many people down the aisle do the same. There, blocking the walkway, were the Marauders.

My eyes narrowed and something unpleasant burned in my chest upon spotting the gang leaders. Potter's arms were crossed and he leant idly against the wall. His hair was typically dishevelled and his eyes scanning the heads of the bystanders, ego purring under the attention.

Beside him, Black –proficient jerk and professional bane of my existence– seemed equally relaxed, almost bored. His hands were in the pockets of his worn jeans and his dark jacket loosely hugged his frame. His long black hair causally hung down over his face, throwing his grey eyes and mischievous smirk in shadow. I'm sure he spent _way_ too much time passionately sculpturing that effect each morning.

Remus stood slightly behind the two, looking a little uneasy. A large angry red scratch stretched from his ear to jaw; a recent addition to his collection. His injuries were nothing new.

Peter looked a little out of place beside the other three, he was pushed to the background simply because the others naturally commanded far more attention. He was at least a head shorter than the gangly Remus, bordering on the cubby side and perfectly average in his studies. There's usually no place for average amidst self-declared perfection. It was peculiar for certain.

They built a name for themselves, and entire school knew them as the Marauders by the end of the first year. They called themselves pranksters, while I called them professional trouble. Same difference really, but perspective has always been a wondrous thing.

Facing them, pale hand clutching his wand, was Severus Snape. He was usually the base of their little pranks. He was snarky and clad in shabby but well cared for robes. Black picked on him to fulfil his odd little sadistic needs, Remus usually only intervened to corral the Black Beast when it got too out of control, Peter provided the vocal support and Potter mainly harassed him to show off.

"All right Snivellus?" Black called, casually fiddling with his wand. His sleet grey eyes seemed to gleam when Snape's eyes flicked to the weapon.

Snape sneered, his dark gaze flashing maliciously, "Shove off Black, go run to mummy. If she'll take you, that is."

Black hissed, levelling his wand with Snape's pale face. I winced with a cross between experienced sympathy and frustration. Hitting the most volatile of the Marauders where it hurt most while outnumbered four to one was stupidity bordering on suicide. I only prodded that wound once, and received a surprisingly nasty curse in return.

As any halfwit could have predicted, all four Marauders growled darkly. Pettigrew responded slightly later and was still fumbling around for his wand when the sparks began to fly. He hesitated a second before giving up and ducking behind his friends.

Snape was hit by the jelly-legs and bat-boogie curses, which did not make for a pleasant combination.

I pitied him, of course. For just a moment, I indulged my imagination. Anteoculatia, for some reason, can to mind. I pictured Black's hair, and smiled at the yelp that would have been summoned by his locks suddenly forming antlers. Perhaps he would have tried to dart into a compartment, maybe clobbered his friends along the way, only to discover his odd cranium edition was too large for the door and ended up sprawled in the corridor.

If only, right?

It would be satisfying, poetic justice at its finest. But I knew I wouldn't.

Black's eyes roved the crowd, basking on the approval on those eager faces. I met his eyes with carefully crafted detachment, and when his gaze moved on, I just turned and walked away.

Some Gryffindors we turned out to be.

I was a shadow, less substantial and interesting than the ghosts. I didn't conform to the whole 'friends' thing. Didn't know how, to be perfectly honest. Lily's prophesised alliance equated to exactly naught. Sometimes I'd watch others and wonder how they did it, and other times I'd just wonder how they put up with the inevitable pain.

The quiet was my solace, attention was deadly uncomfortable. Attention usually took the form of the test dummy for the Marauders. So yes, I pitied Snape, I'd been there, done that.

...

I _needed_ pineapple, but even the comfort food of the gods wouldn't have been able to totally diminish my anger. Really, sometimes I find people judge Grindelwald and that new Dark Lord too harshly; sometimes in life you meet people that just need a good killing. Sure, they may have taken the art a bit far, but they're at least partially human, and humans make mistakes.

I sat at the far end of the Gryffindor table viciously stabbing my eggs while I tried to ignore the hundreds of stares I could feel scorching my back. My cheeks flared red upon remembering _that_ and my fork bent in my grip. The innocent egg I had been venting against rocketed of my plate as if it had been shot out of a cannon. Deciding to take it as a sign, I abandoned to fork only to grab my knife and proceed to my next victim. I sniffed delicately as the second egg soon followed the first.

The staring wasn't relenting. Mustering any dignity I had left, I gathered my bag, snatched an apple from the fruit bowl and causally sprinted from the hall. Laughter and whispers followed me and my cheeks turned an even deeper shade of scarlet. Upon exiting the hall I slowed to a walk, closed my ears to the world around me, and trudged to my first class. Smooth.

I silently made my way to the desk at the back corner of the empty Transfiguration room. Unbidden, images of that morning sprang to mind. Before I could stubbornly push them away, I remembered hanging from the ceiling covered in owl treats the moment the post arrived. I shivered, finally succeeding in banishing the memories to where they could be repressed under lock and key.

I ran a hand through my hair, trying fruitlessly to flatten it. My fingers came across another feather and worked clumsily to detangle it. It was a pretty thing; a light speckled brown with downy white edges. It was a stark contrast to the uninteresting and frayed texture of the wooden desk I placed it on. I pulled out my wand, muttered a few choice words, and beamed at my handy work. The desk had a fresh scorch mark and not even ashes remained of the feather.

I laid my Transfiguration book on the improved desk and leafed through the pages. Transfiguration had been the first thing to really fascinate me. Ever since I'd successfully turned a match in to a shiny needle and gotten detention for throwing it at Black, it had never really stopped being awesome. I was one of the best in my class, which was saying something considering the annoying concentration of natural geniuses.

I found I was good at the subjects that relied heavily on spell work. My good grades in Defence and Charms almost made up for the others. I took advantage of History of Magic to catch up on sleep, I'd managed to melt no less than _seventeen_ cauldrons in potions, and I swear the plants in the Herbology greenhouses were out to get me. I had yet to take a Divination or Care of Magical Creatures lesson, but they could prove interesting.

For the first time that morning, as I buried myself in the comforting familiarity of the pages, I found myself forgetting about my problems. The distraction posed by Starling's theory of relative characteristic conversions in animagi was a fascinating one, and I didn't look up when my classmates began to trickle in. His arguments for the controversial and probably not very viable theory were particularly captivating.

I found myself at the mercy of avid curiosity. Transforming into a slug wouldn't be much fun, but a dragon on the other hand; now _that_ would be cool. I figured myself as more of a slug person, although I did wonder…

The easiest way to determine your inner animal was to cast a patronus, which were usually a close representation. I hadn't tried that, but spells were my specialty, and maybe I was good enough to manage it.

Closing the book with a sigh, I listened as McGonagall begin lecturing about basic animal transfiguration while trying to ignore the lounging Marauders I could see from the corner of my eye.

I couldn't focus much that lesson and I left the classroom in a positively foul mood. You'd think that four thirteenish year old boys would understand that jinxing a chair to slide out from under its occupant was only funny the first few hundred times, but you'd be wrong.

...

I shuffled up to the library and hid myself behind the last bookshelf at the table in the darkest corner. That was _my_ spot. It was the part of the library reserved for the dust old books that no one had used in years. It was very rare for anyone to stumble across me.

I'd already flicked through my charms book, and the patronus was mentioned but not in any detail, just as an example of a particularly difficult spell. This was looking brilliant already.

I dumped my bag, headed over to the shelf and pulled out the first book on Defence Against the Dark Arts I saw. '101 Ways to Counteract the Common Jinx'.

One way was usually enough, but it wasn't what I was looking for anyway.

The next book was devoted entirely to curing a victim of the entrail-expelling curse, which upset my own digestive system. It screamed at me when I hurriedly put it back.

Sometime after shutting up the distraught book and shaking off the annoyed librarian, I stumbled across a worn book titled 'Fending Off Dark Creatures and Other Things That May Want to Eat Your Brains.' There was plenty on zombies and wrackspurts, whatever they were, but thankfully there was also information on Dementors.

'_Dementors are one of the darkest creatures our world has known and they rank somewhere below pygmy puffs on such a scale. They thrive on suffering and despair, and coming close to one will have the effect of draining all the happiness from a person. One of the only advantages of the foul creatures is that they're not interested in the brain as they prefer the soul. Having your soul sucked out won't kill you, but side effects include losing all will, personality and adopting a tendency to drool.'_

One eyebrow steadily rose throughout the paragraph. I reread it twice more, shaking my head slowly. Then I rallied myself and continued down the page, wondering if the book contained anything saner.

'_The most effective way to repel a Dementor is the highly thrilling and difficult patronus charm.'_ I smiled, glad to have finally uncovered some sense, _'… but a blended puree of blue mushrooms, snot, dragon claw and two and a half nargles may also have the same effect, although this method is only recommended if the patronus fails as the theory has been proven but it has yet to be tested.'_

… And that previous acknowledgment of sense was revoked.

'_For__ all intents and purposes, the patronus acts as a shield between the Dementor and the caster. It is built of happy memories and if cast properly it creates a corporal form of an animal reflecting the caster. To summon a patronus the caster needs to think of a powerful and happy memory which will be moulded by the incantation 'expecto patronum'.'_

Bingo. The rest of the page was filled with examples of slightly disturbing memories, all of which I knew I definitely would not be using. I placed the book back on the shelf, ignoring the loud grumbling of the nasty book, and began pacing down the aisle.

"A happy memory, hey? Oh there's just so many it's impossible to choose," I muttered sarcastically. I paused at the large window and stared out over the grounds, not really seeing anything, but just thinking.

Drawing my wand, head tilted slightly to the side, I thought of being accepted into school, the new chance, and muttered the incantation. Nothing remotely interesting happened.

'_Right, we'll just call that a practice.'_ I checked my pronunciation, remembered back to the train and how I'd felt, and let it fill me up.

"Expecto patronum." Nothing. Nada. Zilch.

I scowled, wondering what I was doing wrong. I tried again and again, with all sorts of recollections, some of them weren't even real. I was fed up and frustrated, all I wanted was for something to happen.

Then something did. The bell rang. _Shit_. That wasn't really what I had in mind, but ask and you shall receive, right? A glance at my watch confirmed it; I had to be at Potions, in pretty much the furthest point from where I was, eight seconds ago.

Snatching my bag I sped away. The outraged librarian screeched something about not running in the library. I called a quick "Yeah, will do," over my shoulder and started sprinting.

Damn wizard logic! Instead of installing, say, apparition points around the place to get you to class on time, they enchant the stairs to run off on you just when you really need them.

Mentally cursing, I ducked behind a tapestry and sprinted down a dark passage way that should've taken me down two levels. Before I could get very far I ploughed straight into some other poor soul. He gave a stunned yelp and crashed into the wall behind him, the lucky bloke; I fell flat on my ass.

I fumbled around for my wand, grumbling all the while. I heard the boy mutter, "Lumos," and suddenly the passage was lit by an eerie white light. I blinked, throwing my hand up to block the beam. I spotted my wand against the wall and hurried to scoop it up then busily gathered the rest of my books. I avoided looking up at the boy, fighting the embarrassed blush that was burning my cheeks.

"In a hurry, Night?" The boy asked, with an amused note in his voice. I knew that voice, but still avoided his gaze. Why did it have to be someone I knew, why couldn't it have been some stranger that would be content with hexing me and strolling off? At least then I'd have an excuse to run off and hide.

"Yeah, sorry about that, Lupin," I said, slowly getting to my feet. The small matter of the Potions problem had been momentarily dismissed, instead replaced by the higher priority of how to get away as quickly as possible. I briefly contemplated just running off, but that didn't work out too well last time.

"Late for Potions?" Lupin asked. I nodded in response, allowing myself to finally meet his gaze. His face was lit up strangely by the unnatural light, throwing shadows over his gaunt features and making him look even paler and sicklier than normal.

He didn't act half as sick as he looked, sadly. Remus planted his hands in his pockets and grinned slightly, "Well, what are you doing down this passage? This comes out on the fifth floor behind the portrait of the drunken priests."

I cocked my head to the side in confusion, then realised my mistake and slapped my palm into my forehead. "I must've gone in into the passage on the right end of the stairwell, rather than the left. It wouldn't be a problem through if the stairs would sit still for more than five seconds."

Remus nodded in understanding, "An easy mistake to make. But come on, let's get going before Sirius and James can blow up the classroom for us."

I groaned reluctantly. "As if Slughorn could hate me much more." I thought my muttering was quite enough for only my own ears but Lupin heard and grinned again. I resolved from then on that all talking to myself would be done in the relative safety of my head.

"He can't hate you more than he hates me," He said in a singsong voice, seeming quite satisfied with that. Either Lupin's vendetta against Slughorn went deeper than I'd realised, or Black and Potter were a worse influence than I'd feared.

After that we fell into a tense and awkward silence. I wasn't one to encourage conversation, so naturally Lupin didn't seem to know what to say. We only spoke once more when Lupin mentioned the he had some sort of get-into-class-late free card. I wasn't really listening so I just grunted. It was a shame though; maybe if we had some excuse to hurry, the plod down to the dungeons may not have seemed like an eon.

Lupin and I didn't have much in common. He was friendly and almost as popular as Potter and Black while I avoided all possible human contact. He always appeared relatively carefree and happy, with a small smile usually gracing his lips. He played pranks, topped classes, enjoyed Quidditch and had three close mates to watch his back. I had none of that, but neither did I need it. When all else failed I had Scrap; the cat with way too much personality. The one thing Lupin and I had in common was that we were both especially dreadful at potions. I think our combined presence actually made Slughorn nervous.

Many years later, or so it seemed, Lupin pushed open the dungeon door and immediately every head in the classroom turned towards us. I dropped my gaze and stared at the floor but Remus didn't even flinch. I guess he would've gotten used to attention while carrying the title of a Marauder.

The first thing I saw was Professor Slughorn's protruding stomach. It was easily the largest thing in the room and not a particularly pleasant sight. Only slightly higher and resting on his stomach like a growth, his pudgy face did not look impressed. "Ah yes, Mr Luis and Ms Nita, how kind of you to join us. You are aware that class started fifteen minutes ago, yes?"

'_Fifteen minutes! That's how long I was with him? No wonder it was so painful.'_

"Yes Sir, Jenna was just escorting me down from the hospital wing. I have a note from Madam Pomfrey if you'd like to see it."

'_Huh__,'_ I mussed, successfully zoning out completely, _'__Lupin knows my name. Well, he's doing better than the Slug.'_

You think that, being a Potions Professor, he'd at least have the presence of mind to bother learning the names to the two biggest hazards in his dungeon.

"No, no," Slughorn said waving an irritated hand, "Just sit down and pretend you didn't just interrupt my lesson. Oh, and you can sit together, we won't be making potions today so it should be safe to have you two in the same half of the classroom."

Slughorn roughly gestured to the last free table right at the front of the class. I dragged my feet over there, dropped my books on the floor with a thud, plonked myself on the chair and spun it to face the front while glaring daggers at the Slug's huge back. Childish? Perhaps. Necessary? Probably not. Satisfying? … In an odd way it sort of was.

Lupin was slightly more graceful in his entrance but upon sitting down he subtly dragged his chair further away from mine, apparently uncomfortable in my presence. This caused my lips to twist into a small grin.

That lesson was almost physically painful. In addition to the breakfast ordeal, my late entrance with one of the Marauders was drawing even more stares. I hated being in the spotlight almost as much as I hated Black. Actually, when I think about it, I still hated Black more, I could always trace my troubles back to him somehow. On top of the attention, Slughorn spent over twenty minutes talking about some rock. I really have no idea what he was yapping about. When I wasn't getting frustrated over my lack of patronus, I was drifting between states of drowsy inattentiveness and sleep.

The bell finally rang, signalling the end of the torture for the moment. I waited for the mad rush for the door before making my own bid for freedom. At the bottom of the main staircase I paused. There was less than no chance of me being allowed back in the library so soon. Instead, I turned on my heel and strode out the front doors.


	5. Chapter 4

The sky was crisp and clear, only a few white clouds drifted lazily across the blue surface. I could hear faint cries coming from the Quidditch pitch and faintly make out the indistinct figures swerving and swooping on their brooms.

The good weather had drawn many people outside. A group of young boys were squealing as they waded through the reeds on the edge of the lake, probably taunting the grindylows. It was easy to understand why. They're just so adorable with that slimy pale green skin, sharp teeth and long fingers that they just love to affectionately wrap around your neck.

Turning my back on the unfolding disaster, I picked my way through a maze of rocks and trees until I stumbled down to the rippled surface of the lake. I pulled the slightly squished and bruised apple from my bag and my mind wandered back to my patronus as I gazed across the lake.

It was a beautiful place. The breeze stirred the leaves and pulled at my hair, and the reflection of the swaying trees was only slightly distorted in the gently lapping water of the lake. Songbirds filled the air with their vibrant music and drowned out the sounds of the students from the castle.

But I saw it through a dark haze. Let's just call it pessimism and assume that the relentless pressure from all manner of problems, from my Mother to the Marauders, had left me with enough sanity for that to be a viable explanation.

I'd imagined Hogwarts as a vastly different place in that summer before my first year. I was far less cynical, more naïve then. Little eleven year old Jenna was convinced she was going to be the greatest witch that had ever lived. At the time I wasn't too keen on the warty nose that all witches obviously had to embrace, but decided I would deal with that if I could brew bubbling green potions and turn people into toads with Scrap as my loyal sidekick. That's what happened in the novels, and I figured being a witch would mean I was effectively living one.

A happily ever after would've been nice, but reality never failed to intrude. My potions usually ended up as a thick smoking green goo, but my visits to the hospital wing soon taught me this was a bad thing, and human transfiguration was slightly harder than a snap of the fingers and a couple magic words.

'_What a rip-off,'_ I decided with a humourless smirk, _'I need a parody rewrite. Preferably with more pineapple.'_

_..._

I wondered along a lonely deserted corridor. I wasn't going or doing anything particular. I wasn't even sure where I was. I was just bored. Very bored.

Sure, there was homework to be done, a three foot Transfiguration essay that wasn't going to write itself, and any number of other things that could fill my spare time, but I just really couldn't be bothered to do any of it. What I felt like was a hot chocolate and maybe some biscuits and cheese.

Mmmn, yes, definitely some cheese. It was time to do something just because I felt like it.

The great flaw in my plans was sending me in circles. Lunch was long over and I had no idea where the kitchens were. The Marauders would know, but seeking out their company was not an option. The ghosts may have floated through them once or twice –not that they'd have any need for the kitchens– and Nick might at least point me in the right direction. He'd also just as likely get all moody and offended again.

Just as I was turning around, intent on just wandering around near the Great Hall until I stumbled across some form of an entrance, the silence was split by a high-pitched, bloodcurdling scream. I froze, heart jumping to my throat, before I whirled around and started running towards the sound. I blame the small insignificant Gryffindor in me.

There was only one room along the length of the corridor. Light spilled from the open door. I slowed to a walk as I got closer, my hand warily fastened on my wand. So as not to misinform you over the existence of any bravery, I'll take the time to specifically note that my heart was beating rapidly, my hands shook and my head pounded. All that excitement was bound to give me a headache.

I recognised the part of the castle now. It was Filch's lair, I'd heard the stories, but I'd never been inside.

I may not have had much Gryffindor courage but I was determined not to develop any of the trademark Gryffindor stupidity either. I took care to be silent as a walked towards the opening, as opposed to racing into trouble with swords blazing. Muffled sounds of swearing and more yelling emanated from the room.

Thoughts bounced around my head, prominent amongst them were _'torture… pain… attackers'_ probably courtesy of a few Dark wannabes. But we were far from their dungeons, and immediately after lunch was a stupid time to bully someone. I almost dismissed that line of thought as irrational, but accepted that they could've been striking when people would least expect it, or perhaps they were just as bored as I was.

It could've been Filch in there, which got me seriously questioning my standing right outside his office. Maybe he'd finally cracked and was torturing students. Who knew what that man was capable of when he was angry, and, it was just a hunch, but I got the impression he either was or would be pretty cranky.

I forced myself to stop jumping to conclusions: look, calculate, then improvise. I was very close, just a few more steps and I'd be able to peek inside. But I didn't get to look. A hand materialised from thin air and fastened around my wrist. A second later, another hand appeared and muffled my scream. When I say 'materialised from thin air' I literally mean they just appeared from nowhere. There were a pair of hands floating in the near-deserted corridor, and they pulled me into a dark alcove behind a tapestry.

The next few seconds were quite emotionally upheaving for me. My first reaction was to panic, naturally. In my defence, I was being dragged by an unknown antagonist who, as I soon discovered, happened to be much stronger and larger than I was. He was also most probably a guy, if the smell was anything to go by.

But my panic was soon overrun by anger. I wasn't about to let that stranger drag me to what might very well have been my death. I wasn't planning on going quietly. Figuratively speaking. His grip over my mouth was like steel, and consequently I couldn't properly express how pissed off I was. All I could do was growl furiously from the back of my throat and scratch, kick and struggle to the best of my ability. The person was lucky he took my wand because I was in the mood for a cursing demonstration the world had never seen.

And then, to demonstrate the bottomless pit that is human stupidity, my mysterious attacker asked me to quit my struggling and seemed to expect me to oblige.

I froze upon recognising that voice, and I was finally dragged out of sight and into the alcove. It was dark, I could barely see, but my eyes still darted around frantically. The whole place smelt like dude. Whilst I was engaging in my little panicking routine, some sort of cloak fell off my kidnapper, but I was barely paying attention to that. The chief reason being that the previously floating hands were attached to arms, and those arms were attached to James Potter.

Anger announced it reappearance with a hearty punch. The corpse, formerly known as Potter, was about to sustain serious injury. Scratch that. As my eyes adjusted to the gloom I spotted his henchmen and decided that Potter wouldn't be the only one suffering a painful death.

The tiny space was, well, tiny. There wasn't much room to go around and I was sandwiched between Potter and a wall. It was not very comfortable, for any number of reasons. I could just imagine the consequences of someone walking in at that moment. It would not be pretty. Potter's fan club would probably kill me before I had the chance to properly extract my revenge.

I would've kicked him where it hurt, but unfortunately they had probably foreseen that reaction and I had been immobilised. And by _my_ wand. Ooh yeah, heads were gonna role.

Black was shamelessly struggling not to laugh. He had to lean on Peter for support. At least Pettigrew had the decency to be afraid. He was watching me from the far corner of the alcove, watery eyes wide and terrified. It was mostly needless though; Black's demise was higher on my to-do list. Slightly.

"Don't be afraid, we'll explain everything in a minute," I heard Lupin's voice, muffled as his face was squished against a wall, whisper from somewhere in the shadows. I didn't want his reassurance, I didn't even particularly want my wand at that moment. All I wanted was the counter-curse to the stupid spell that kept me from tearing Potter limb from limb.

Everyone froze as someone, presumably Filch, hobbled from his office and ran, still cursing, down the hall. The boys let out a collective breath and hurriedly stumbled from the confined space.

Lupin was the first to pay me any notice. He glanced at me fearfully, "Ok, Night, I'm going to take the charm off now. Just… don't overreact." If I was able to narrow my eyes I would have.

'_Start running, Potter.'_

Lupin muttered something under his breath. At first I thought it was a prayer, and that probably would have been the sensible thing to do, as I soon discovered I was able to move.

My furious eyes snapped up to meet Potter's. He must have seen something he didn't like. He gulped, causing me to grin.

The next thing I knew, Potter was fleeing before me, Peter had dived back into the safely of the alcove and Black was rolling on the floor laughing.

Lupin was unsuccessfully trying to reason with me, "Night! Come on, we had to grab you-"

"Not that I don't admire you diplomacy skills, Moony, because they're _clearly_ working, but could I have my wand please?" Potter called as we made our way past. He managed to gain a few metres because I took the slightly longer route that involved my feet meeting Black's ribs.

Lupin glared, "No. If you would both just listen-"

"Listen?!" Potter yelled incredulously, panting slightly, "There is a mad chick out for my head and, trust me, she's not as weak and scrawny as she looks!"

Throughout the entirety of the charming conversation, I managed to sum up all of my feelings into one creative, expressive word: "ARGGGGH!"

Eventually I stopped, my eyes following Potter as he slowed down much further down the corridor. Stupid Quidditch fitness and agility. I would've pursued him further, but, as it was, I was focusing on not keeling over and dying from heart failure.

"You'd better have one hell of an explanation, Lupin!" I stood, breathing heavily, waiting impatiently for him to come up with a very good reason as to why I shouldn't continue my mad rampage once my heart stopped trying to pulverise my ribcage.

"Well, ah… we may have done something to anger Filch slightly, that's why we were hiding, see?" Lupin began ringing his hands nervously. Taking my silence as a positive sign, he continued. "We heard just how angry he was-"

"Yeah," Black agreed, eyes gleaming, and propped himself up on Lupin's shoulder, "You'd have thought we'd let a dragon loose or something. Oh, Pete, make a mental note of that: we haven't tried dragons yet!"

Lupin rolled his eyes. "The point being, he would've taken his anger out on the first person he saw, and you were there about to race into his office."

"_Dooooomed_," James added, nodding compellingly from his end of the corridor.

I crossed my arms, "Forgive the scepticism, but you expect me to believe you dragged me out of Filch's line of fire when I could have been a perfectly capable scapegoat, just out of the noble goodness of your heats?"

"Well, it doesn't sound so plausible when you put it _that_ way," Lupin grumbled. "Ok, so that was a lie. Your appearance may have caused him to look around for accomplices and he would murder us."

"You should've just stuck with the lie, mate," Black muttered.

I wanted to do more lasting damage, but unfortunately my wand was in Black's stupid hand. Instead, I had to revert to trying to melt them into little puddles of goo with my eyes.

'_That's right! Cower before my menacing glare of doom and destruction.'_ Evidently, I needed to work on the destructive prowess of my glares, because it clearly wasn't working. After the initial threat on their lives had passed, the boys weren't looking the slightest bit frightened at all, but I kept my interpretive form of glaring up at full force. Maybe I'd get lucky.

My anger was wearing off. I was tired, slightly overwhelmed and feeling the beginnings of that headache. Essentially, due to exceeding my daily dosage of excitement, I was suffering from an excitement hangover. Oh the joys of life.

"Whatever." I sighed, not able to hold onto my anger any longer. I just wanted to find me that hot chocolate, now for an entirely different reason.

"What did you people do, anyway? I thought someone died."

"Let's just say we turned his world upside down." Potter sniggered, apparently this was something terribly witty, because Pettigrew started guffawing loudly. I was admittedly curious, and walked towards the door cautiously.

"Make it quick, Night, Filch probably ran off to get a mallet. Mashed Potter is not too high in vitamin me."

It was after this comment that I became aware that we had been outside a provoked psychotic Filch's office for quite a while. I didn't like Potter and I certainly didn't want to agree with him, but I had to concede with what he said. It was time to scram.

The good little coward within me should have taken over and hightailed it out of there, but I was still a Gryffindor; we're naturally curious, impulsive and, above all, stupid. I looked in, of course.

The office was unexpectedly organised. There was a desk in the centre covered in dull paperwork. Behind it was a collection of filling cabinets and hanging from the nearest wall, looking suspiciously as if they had been polished fairly recently, were chains and manacles. Cobwebs covered the small chandelier, only source of light in the room.

Really, the only notable way the office was unusual at all, was that everything was upside down and stuck to the ceiling. Not a thing was out of place: the chandelier was rooted to the floor, the chains hung towards the ceiling. In fact, the only thing that looked out of place, but was by far the most amusing addition, was Mrs Norris who was perched on the underside of the desk and hissing furiously.

As I watched, mouth gaping, as a piece of paper fell from the desk and floated to a rest at my feet.

I had to hand it to them; they were nothing if not thorough.

"Wow." I let out before I could stop myself.

"Yes," Black said from beside me, hand over his heart with mock sincerity, "We are just incredible, aren't we?"

"What? No! I didn't say that!"

"But you were thinking it."

I instantly denied those thoroughly false accusations, "I was listing unflattering adjectives."

"Such as sexy, charismatic, alluring…" Black continued to announce his alleged traits while I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. I did that so often I was legitimately concerned that I'd wear out my eyelids. "… criminal genius, witty rogue, Godlike-"

"Actually," I interrupted his growing list, "what sprang to mind, chiefly, was arrogant, annoying, immature and conceited."

"I notice you didn't say ugly."

"It's included in the full edition. I'll owl you a copy tomorrow."

"You're in denial, my incredible awesomeness is too much for you to handle."

By now our faces were inches apart. Mine was flushed with anger, while his was alight with a confident smirk. I wanted to punch him. Again. Evidently I have quite a violent personality. At that moment I wanted to embrace said violence.

Oblivious to the growing tension, Pettigrew peered through the doorway at the organised destruction, "Guys, I'd say we can call that a successful tes-mfgh."

His voice was muffled as Black's hand quickly shot out to cover it. "Yes, Peter," he muttered, still smirking, "But we'll talk about that later."

I glanced between them, "What?"

"Oh, nothing, we're just talking about something that's not fit for present company." Black's eyes had hardened and he met my glare at full force. He was bored with our little word games. That's all other people were to him; just toys to amuse him when he saw fit. Provoking me was a game, but when the game grew old the player moved on.

"Um, Sirius," James interrupted our glaring contest but ignored me completely. "We really should go now."

"Yeah," Black agreed, finally breaking eye contact to roughly shove my wand back in my hands. He wasn't scared I would hex him –thought no doubt he thought I would try– but his eyes showed nothing but contempt. I decided I hated condescending Black more than arrogant Black.

I stalked off, stuffing my wand into my robes as I went. Lupin muttered something about "Filch" and "trouble" before starting in the opposite direction. The others quickly followed.

I hadn't taken two steps before Filch rounded the corner with Dumbledore in tow.

Potter recovered his gusto the quickest, "Why, good morning, Professor, fancy seeing you here. What an unlikely and completely unrelated coincidence!"

"Good morning, Mr Potter."

I couldn't believe Filch ran to the headmaster because of a little prank. It was probably because they'd upset his cat. I studied Dumbledore. He didn't look mad. On the contrary, he looked quite amused. But considering my people skills, I was probably completely wrong.

I was quite certain in saying that Filch, on the other hand, was definitely not amused. He had quite an effective glare of doom and destruction. I wanted to shrink away and hide, and yet, I was also temped to ask for lessons. A good evil glare is hard to come by and you never known when the next one is going to show up. This happened to be the angriest, more convincingly evil glare I'd ever seen, and I'd lived with my mother for eleven years and Lily Evans since. No one knew the infamous Lily Glare quite like James Potter, but he was holding up against Filch's quite well. Over the years he'd probably developed some tolerance to it.

"They should all be expelled- they removed the gravity from my office, that's dark magic!" Filch hollered, effectively drawing my attention back to him. He was practically jumping around in front of Dumbledore now. He reminded me of a little dog, actually. I remembered I should probably be afraid of this little dog that was still demanding my head.

Dumbledore walked briskly into Filch's office and stood in the centre of the room with his hands on his hips. He was talking softly to himself and stroking his beard. I was sure I heard the words 'original', 'Stephen Fry' and 'socks'. Have I mentioned yet that I'm quite sure Dumbledore is not entirely sane?

"Ah, yes," Dumbledore said almost immediately, "Sticking charms, and many of them, if I am correct."

"Damn, I was sure it'd take them longer to work that out," Potter muttered before handing a few coins to Lupin, who looked quite pleased with his winnings.

Dumbledore seemed amused by the small transaction. Or, at least that's what I gathered from the twinkle in his eye. It'd take some serious skill to be able to maintain an eye twinkle while fuming.

"I want to see some punishment!" Filch howled. Hmm, yes, definitely a yappy little dog. "These rats have ruined my office!"

Dumbledore didn't seem amused by Filch at that moment, but he conceded anyway, "Of course. Did you do this?" he asked, guesting to the desk. Mrs Norris growled. I suspected he already knew the answer but preferred to hear it from the culprits. Or maybe he was just a nice bloke and would let the Marauders out of it if they played innocent.

"Yes, sir," Potter beamed and added a cheeky salute. Apparently he didn't mind being classified as a culprit and took some pride in his work. Idiot.

"You will all have to remove the charms and return the office to its previous state, and you will each receive a detention. You are excused from classes until finished."

'_Wait. All of us?' _

"But, sir-"

"Yes, Miss Night?" I'd never solely had the headmaster's attention before. His twinkling eyes had adopted a calculating gleam. I really didn't want to meet his gaze any more.

"I- er… nothing."

"Good luck then," he said softly before turning away. I got the feeling he wasn't talking about cleaning up the office.

"Right, maggots," Filch said gleefully, "Get to it!"

...

Much, much later we emerged from that dreaded office. My muscles aches and my last shred of patience had been thoroughly fried.

Filch had been very particular about where his furniture went; Lupin and I spent half an hour straightening his desk before he was satisfied. Also, I'm not sure the punishment entailed polishing his manacles. He made me do it anyway.

I thought we were almost done about an hour ago, but no; Black decided to charm one of the filing cabinets to chase Mrs Norris. It almost got her, too, before Filch flipped completely and made us organise every paper in the filing cabinet –about a hundred years' worth of detention slips– in alphabetical order.

Eventually the evil caretaker finally couldn't find a reason to enslave us any longer.

"At least we got out of History of Magic," Potter said, annoyingly optimistic as always. There's nothing more irritating than the silver lining when you're focusing on feeling peeved and gloomy.

"Yeah, and dinner," groaned Pettigrew mournfully, clutching sadly at his growling stomach.

I couldn't agree more, after all, missing two meals in a day was not fun. Sucking up my pride, which was much harder than I would like to admit, I asked Lupin where the kitchens were.

But it was Black who answered, I jumped as he spoke, not even realising he'd been behind me. "Down the stairs, towards the dungeons, past the cellars, take the corridor to the end and there will be a wall. You just have to guess the password."

"Right," I muttered, stifling a yawn, unfortunately my brain wasn't working properly. I started down the corridor.

"Any bets on how long it'll take her to realise she's going to the Slytherin common rooms?"

I turned to see the Marauders hadn't moved from where I'd left them. "I heard that!"

"Ah, dammit Potter, way to ruin all the fun," Black slugged his friends arm.

He met my eyes and seemed to be considering. He glanced at the others who shrugged indifferently, Lupin helpfully pointing out that I'd just follow them anyways, which I would, and Peter moaned again about his stomach digesting itself, which mine already had.

Black waved me over, "Come on, then, let's get going before Pete tries to eat me."

After an uncomfortable pause, Black sniffed the air, sighed and said, "Even though I just spent an hour cleaning out cat litter, I still smell incredibly awesome."

I blinked. He was really going to start that again? He was never quite right in the head, that one.

"Sure, if you consider Eau de Toilette to be fashionable." I admit I couldn't resist taking his goad.

The game was back on.


	6. Chapter 5

I awoke to a heavy weight on my chest. Groggily, I rolled over and felt the weight fall onto my mattress. Slight footsteps made their way towards my pillow before the weight plonked itself down on my face. Finding my source of oxygen cut off, I forced open my eyes through the sea of dark fur and heaved the cat off my face.

With a rumbling purr, Scrap, apparently having forgiven my recent lack of attention, leapt back onto the bed and settled down on my lap. Unfortunately for him, there were those of us who couldn't sleep for nineteen hours a day.

I sat up quickly, startled, and dislodged the cat once again. Sluggish, semi-active thoughts did their best to rush around my head. At such an hour in the morning, or any time at all really, my brain was in a state where it almost seemed to want to try and accomplish something, but then all systems packed it in and went home. Finally, after a lot of time wasted staring at a wall later, I finally pinpointed what was bothering me. Nothing. Simply… nothing.

This time of morning I should have been looking forward to the coming day. There were things to do, subjects to fail, new and original ways to be humiliated. Sure, I was fairly certain I would do my best at accomplishing all three before 9 am, but today the prospect didn't bother me as much as usual. A night in the kitchens with the Marauders must've done weird things to my head, but I didn't remember anything particularly unusual happening.

Struggling to free myself from my tangled blankets, I lunged for the bathroom but only succeeded in tripping quite ungracefully and slamming onto the cold floorboards. The reappearance of the usual mundane bad luck reassured me a little. Maybe the day wouldn't be quite so different after all.

After absentmindedly trying to pull the wrong shoe on my foot twice, I managed to make it down to the common room with a better than average appearance. McGonagall's mouth would undoubtedly still press into a firm line just at the sight of my hair, but I had bigger problems on my mind.

There was a commotion in the common room. It had been reversed, much like Filch's office, but on a larger scale. They hadn't managed to move the fireplace from its usual position, though. The end result was less than and predictable.

Some younger students were gathered in the wide, empty space with amusingly bewildered expressions on their faces. My lips quirked upwards just watching them. Then I remembered I was in the middle of a confusion endorsed metal freak-out, and my attention reverted appropriately.

The walk through the common room was quicker than normal with no obstacles to traverse. I made it down the first flight of stairs without stumbling, I remembered to jump the trick step, and the Great Wolfhound wasn't in his portrait, so he didn't end up following me down three floors. I almost missed his company.

Something was seriously wrong.

It was time for drastic measures. The hospital wing and I had never really been overly simpatico, Madam Pomfrey and I had an accordance to agree to disagree. She hated me, and I –for the record I was in no way afraid of her– but I simply acknowledged the fact that the lady was completely _insane_. I didn't particularly want to break my clean record of avoidance for the year, but someone experienced with insanity was undoubtedly what I needed.

I made the long detour to the hospital wing and quickly entered before the instinctive need to survive could convince me otherwise. Vivid recollections of my last visit were keen on my mind. She'd scolded me for being far too reckless and not having enough self-preservation drive, as if I got myself a concussion on purpose.

The wing was almost empty. The curtains were drawn around the far hospital bed, suggesting only one patient. As my footsteps –which most definitely could _not_ be described as timid– notified her of my presence, the Madam of all Evilness herself appeared.

The first thing I noted was that her brows dropped quite an alarming amount in the space of less than a second. Next, her nostrils flared, much like I imagine a dragon's would do as it prepares to roast its unfortunate victim. Really, school nurses should be nice ladies practically oozing kindness and reassurance. Ours was far too strict and cared far too fiercely for my liking.

"Ms Night, back again I see. To what imaginary ailment do I owe this pleasure?"

I took a step back, half expecting her skin to become green and scaly. When it didn't, and I didn't have an excuse to run screaming, I braced myself for my inevitable doom and tried the 'nice Jenna' approach. She should've felt privileged; not many people ever witness much effort on that front.

"Hello, Madam Pomfrey," I said, trying my best smile, "How are you this fine morning?"

She wasn't buying it.

"This is the hospital wing, Ms Night, not a playground. I do not tolerate nonsense here. What do you want?"

Ah, ok, right to the point then, "I'm dying!" I exclaimed, drawing my hand across my brow for the dramatic effect, "Something has happened, I suspect poisoning, but maybe my brain has just imploded under the weight of all the new knowledge dumped on me this term."

She sighed heavily, "Go to breakfast. Despite your apparent belief to the contrary, I do have injured patients to attend to."

Clearly that line of fire wasn't working, so I abandoned my pride and decided on a different approach: the Puppy Face. Guaranteed to obtain sympathy from even the coldest heart, the Puppy Face embraces innocence and helplessness to mercilessly obtain sympathy and otherwise slavish compliance. The theory is simple: look sorry, guilty and stupid and you get out scotch free. Big eyes, large paws and a goofy tail also helps, but I've been assured they aren't completely necessary.

I'd never actually applied the Puppy Face to any situation, but I'd seen it in action loads of times. That accursed creature, Black, somehow managed to wriggle his way out of trouble just as easily as he got into it. His Puppy Face could level mountains. Not even McGonagall was completely immune.

Pomfrey's reaction to my slightly modified version of the Puppy Face wasn't very inspiring. Her scowl deepened and her arms crossed tightly. I figured that lady's heart must be soaked in liquid nitrogen but, admittedly, my version of a cute pleading look was a little sketchy at best.

So I gave up.

"Come on, I just need a quick brain scan or something to confirm my suspicions that I'm in dire need of mental assistance."

Her glare redouble before, "Sit."

I smiled cheerfully, if a little falsely, "Thanks Madam Pomfrey, you won't regret it!"

She made certain that the look on her face clearly said she already had.

Let it be said that Madam Pomfrey is not a patient person. Also, let it never be mentioned to her that I said that. On the off chance that she asks; I was delusional and mentally retarded at the time of offense. She knows me well enough, she'll believe it.

She didn't waste any time with spells and such, and went right on through to the diagnosis, listing every mental problem known to wizard fork, "A strong case of ADHD; anxiety and the tendency to over exaggerate; Trauma, yes that's obvious; possibly an entire colony of wrackspurts living in there-"

"What in Merlin's trousers is a wrackspurt?" I was getting more concerned by the second, but for her sanity, not mine.

"Why, they're invisible make-believe creatures that fly around in your head, of course!"

Oh yes, _of course_, how silly of me. I barely refrained from rolling my eyes.

Instead, I figured her usually flick-of-the-wand detection was probably more reliable; "Shouldn't you magically diagnose me?"

She seemed amused by the very idea. "You? No need. You're poor mind is very obviously unstable, it will require months of therapy, possible brain transfusions, and of course plenty of potions."

I paled at the two separate terror inducing words, 'months' and 'potions', contained in the same sentence. "You know what? I'm suddenly feeling much better. It's a miracle!"

"That's what I thought." She said, gesturing to the door.

Bloody nurses.

I made it down to breakfast with plenty of time to spare. There were even two different dishes of pineapple on the table. The sight of the platters made my mouth water, and I felt my spirits lift into the range of Cautiously-Mildly-Optimistic. What day where they serve that much pineapple could possible go wrong?

But no morning would be complete without a little ominous stuff. That particular morning's foreboding was mainly due to the optimism, strangely enough.

I didn't like structure. I hated following time tables. I was more of a 'spur of the moment' person. But there was a certain chaos to my life that wasn't part of a routine, it was more of a mandatory force. Things wouldn't be right without my mandatory force, i.e. _not optional_. It would be very inconsiderate and highly unlikely for it to just take leave without warning.

'_Maybe today would be different.'_ I wasn't quite sure how I felt about that, and that was what concerned me.

...

"I can sense three people within this room possessing powerful auras, powerful enough, perhaps, to see into the future. One of those gifted people being myself, of course, but two of you standing before me will also accomplish great things. I will help you nurture and access your gift, as I am Professor Axis."

The Divination professor and self-proclaimed Gift of the Universe was quite a sight to behold. He was unique, that was for sure. His head was encased in a black turban, and he was garbed in exotic robes of royal purple and silver. The colours stood out against his unusually pale skin and I was startled to see his eyes were a murky white. He looked blind. Maybe he even was.

I'd heard one of the girls tell her friend he looked like a prince. Personally, my first instinct had been medieval corpse.

He was the epicentre of the circular room. There were dark curtains drawn across the windows behind him and a weird glowy orb thingy at his feet. I assumed he was aiming for some sort of dramatic effect. It seemed to be working on some people, but that could have just been his charming smile.

After a pause he evidently deemed sufficiently theatrical, he continued, the smile instantly whipped from his face. "As for the rest of you who do not possess The Sight, you may be able to complete the basics to an adequate level, if the desire finds you, however do not allow that to stroke your egos; you are not in the same league as two of your classmates."

"Not that particular weakness is any of your fault, of course," he added almost as an afterthought. Nice bloke, that.

Approximately two seconds later –maybe less– I was utterly bored and seriously regretting having ever chosen Divination. I guess the endless possibilities of the future made it impossible to predict or too vague to be of use, even with the aid of magic. That was a shame, I wouldn't have minded knowing what I was going to have for breakfast on the 22th of May.

A detached part of my mind was vaguely aware of the teacher talking, doubtlessly about something boring, but it was in the background, just white noise. I began drawing idly on my parchment. The quill rose and fell, inscribing startlingly defined black lines on the paper. My imagination ran wild, hundreds of images appeared, most lasting no more than a second, as my mind browsed through the files, instantly dismissing most. Occasionally I noted something that caught my fancy; just a feature here, the shape of something there. Gradually, the favourable features came together, though I slightly altered some.

"Hey." A strange voice interrupted.

I jumped so violently I almost fell out of my chair.

"What?" Yeah, elegant, I know.

The boy I was sharing the table with was average in every way, the exception being that he was speaking to me. _Willingly_, even, and perhaps even without ulterior motives. I hadn't taken any particular notice of him when I'd taken my seat. I'd just noticed the empty chair in a favourable position at the back of the room, though I now, rather unsurprisingly, took the time to give him the ol' once over.

Frankly, he didn't have any distinguishable features to mention. The only remarkable thing about him was the fact that someone could manage to look so incredibly ordinary. He had flat grey eyes, rusty brown hair cropped back from his face, slightly wrinkled Hufflepuff robes, and he was smiling slightly.

"You got a problem with something?" This was not a polite enquiry or offer to do homework, rather, as I hoped my tone conveyed, it was a slightly more subtle way of saying: 'bugger off and leave me alone'.

He just went on smiling.

On second thoughts, maybe he did need something blunt to chisel through his thick skull, "Buzz off."

I'd never been one for subtlety anyway.

Unfortunately my natural person repellent seemed to be malfunctioning.

"That's really good," he said, ignoring my charms and nodding his exceptionally ordinary head at my parchment. To say I was merely 'taken aback' would be a grossly understating it. For the second time in the course of a few seconds I was startled into almost falling out of my chair. I really had to stop doing that.

I followed his gaze, I observed my drawing of the eye. The pupil was dilated and the lids narrowed. It was encased in multiple layers of coarse scales but I frowned critically at the shading. It was a dragon eye. Sort of. It was shaped in such a way that it looked pained. I quickly amended that by tracing over the top of the eyelid and changing the overall angle slightly. The changes made it look mad, but that was alright; anger was a much easier emotion to deal with.

Not to be dissuaded by my lack of response, the boy ranted on, "I like the way it all flows together, it looks determined."

I considered it again, trying to see what he saw. I guess it could be described as determined.

'_Drat. Even my own drawings rebel against me._'

"I'm Reece," he said, offering a hand, "Reece Ottoman."

I stared at his hand for a long while (which was suspiciously ordinary mind you). Then, giving myself a hefty mental kick into action, I took it.

After I'd muttered something vaguely similar to my name he fell silent, watching the teacher half-heatedly. For the remainder of the seemingly endless lesson, I watched him discreetly from the corner of my eye.

Amended assessment: not an ordinary guy, appearance is deceiving and puts one off guard. Treat with suspicion until further notice.

I'd thought the exchange would end there and be forgotten. But when the class was finally dismissed I only made it as far as the Great Hall before the next instalment in the soon to become series of encounters. He drew a few curious looks as he sat down beside me at the Gryffindor table, casually asking the nearest first year to pass the sauce. Who has sauce on (upon close inspection) a jam and cheese sandwich anyway?

"Are you excited about the first Quidditch game? You team is going up against Slytherin after all." The topic came out of the blue, taking me completely unaware.

"Is that what people refer to as a 'conversation starter'?" I asked after a long pause.

Who me, socially clueless? Perish the thought!

"Sure, I guess so. But usually when one person wishes to know the personal preferences of another person he or she simply asks. In this context, we call this inquiry a question."

His tone was light, indicating that the sentence that could have easily been mocking was intended to be friendly. That the kid spoke a language I could understand.

"Well, no, I'm not that excited." The boy puzzled me. He was definitely a mystery. People didn't just sit down to lunch with Gryffindor's self-designated loner. I'll admit I was curious. With nothing better to do, I decided to make an effort with this conversation, hoping that I'd find answers. "When is it?"

"The season hasn't even started yet, the houses have only just picked the teams. The first game won't be for a while."

"They why bring it up?"

"Why not?"

'_Why would he answer a question with a question, especially a question he knows I can't answer? Stupid infuriatingly confusing boy.'_

"My oldest brother plays for Ravenclaw," he continued while applying another layer of sauce to his disgusting sandwich. Finally it made sense.

"That's what you want! You expect me to give up secrets about our team so you can feed it back to your brother!" I was delighted by my discovery and at solving the mystery. The prospect of someone expecting me to betray my house didn't really bother me, I was obviously far below house loyalty.

He snorted, "Hardly. I'm a Hufflepuff, I was just asking."

He couldn't possibly know how confused this made me. Mystery case re-opened. "Then why are you talking to me?"

He shrugged, "I was bored. You looked equally as bored. Besides, you're good at drawing and you're interesting."

I always tried to avoid believing blatant lies. "Me? As if. Why don't you talk to your friends?"

A shadow fell across his face, "My friends and I had a… disagreement," he muttered bitterly, "I don't want to talk to them."

I blanched in alarm; if he expected me to listen with open ears about the woes of life he was mistaken. Thankfully, he seemed eager to change the topic.

"Anyway, you play Quidditch?" There was something about that game that just drew wizards to it, and no matter their age they reverted to metal stage of ten years old at the mere mention of the word. I liked the way his face lit up, I had to restrain my lips from twitching into a smile. I drew the conclusion that he was just a strange lonely boy with no one to annoy. It was a better assessment than my first Quidditch related suspicions. Probably.

"You're strange."

The stupid boy's grin spread even wider, "Thank you!"

"It wasn't a complement."

"I know."

"You're confusing me."

"Yes, I know that too."

"I just… I don't understand you."

"Is it bothering you?"

My instinctive affirmative answer couldn't form into words. His earnest face was getting the better of my traitorous better nature. The strangest thing was I don't really think I minded.

"… No," I said so softly I was half afraid and half hoping that he hadn't heard, but he did, and it caused him to smile.

He took a bite out of his sandwich large enough to intimidate a shark, "Wahtz'rnecksnlas?" Something about necks and masts, and perhaps waltzing? Then again, probably not. It was no dialect I was familiar with, a fact he gathered by my raised eyebrow.

He swallowed at least half his sandwich with a huge gulp, "What's your next class?"

"Defence Against the Dark Arts. Yours?"

He just shrugged, "Haven't a clue." Then, stuffing the remaining mass of bread and goo into his mouth, he stood and started towards the door.

"Where are you going?" I demanded. I was a little disappointed, but not surprised, that he'd ditched me just when I'd finally decided to progress past only talking to inanimate objects, animals and any split personalities that I will not confirm the existence of.

"Defence class room, somewhere on the third floor, I think. You comin'?"

I managed a bewildered nod, then watched as he grinned and raced out of the hall. That time I couldn't resist the small smile, and I gave into it. I hurriedly detangled myself from the bench and jogged after him, ignoring McGonagall's yelling and the curious stares of the students that followed us.

Further evaluation: very odd, slightly amusing. Study until further notice.


	7. Chapter 6

I glanced around after leaving the hall, trying to catch a glance of Reece. Peeves was fiddling with a chandelier –that could only end badly– and a small group of older kids were making their way into the Hall, but there was no incredibly not-so-ordinary boy in sight. I felt my spirits deflate; I had hoped he'd be there, that maybe he really did want to be my friend. My pride wasn't quite ready to accept that I'd been wrong.

I heard laughter, my head snapped up. Peering through the railing a floor above me was his grinning face.

"Come on, Jenny, time's a wastin'!" There was a flash of movement and I saw him take off, teasing me to give chase.

'_What did he call me? Jenny? At least it's better than Jenna.'_

But I was the mature age of almost-but-not-quite thirteen, and the event of a young lady racing through a prestigious school is heavily frowned upon in our era. Who am I kidding? Of _course_ I chased him, and I bloody well enjoyed doing it.

For once the stairs weren't running off on me, and I took them two at a time. The race was close, but he still reached the Defence class room a few metres in front of me.

I arrived seconds later, panting for breath, "Two more floors," I managed to wheeze out, "and I _so_ would've had you."

He maintained the shoddy confidence and false sense of security that comes with winning, "No way, I'm the _definition_ of speed."

My haggard breathing didn't allow for a quick retort to that, but I managed a snort.

We leant against the wall for a moment, trying to catch our breath. His eyes shined, rubbing in his victory.

Before Reece had even properly regulated his breathing he was off talking again. I lost track of the time, but I found I could actually stand his constant waffling. He got so excited, even about trivial things, and it was contagious. Honestly, I'd never thought Morgana's Theory of Strangling Plants could sound so interesting.

He was incredibly excited about the upcoming Hogsmeade weekend, the first one our year would be able to attend.

"– and there's the Three Broomsticks where you can buy these things called Butterbeers. My brothers recon they're the best thing in the world, that they practically make you _melt_ inside, and apparently it's like foaming heaven. Then there's the barman's daughter, she's a little older than us, I think, but they say she looks like an angel. Then, down the street there's the joke shop, Zonko's, where they bring in loads of Fanged Frisbees, Dungbombs and Hiccough Sweets just for the Hogwarts visits –"

It went on and on. There was something called the Shrieking Shack, which had recently become the residence by a temperamental ghost; I was warned never to let anyone talk me into the couple's nightmare known as Madam Puddifoot's, even on pain of death; and to avoid walking into the shady bar, the Hog's Head, when anyone reputable was watching.

And I wouldn't be seeing any of it. I guess I had to tell him, but I didn't know how he would react. I began an in-depth forensic investigation of my fingernails. "… I can't go. There were some complications at home, my mother didn't… get a chance to sign the form."

There was a small twig snagged on my shoelace. How interesting, I wondered when that had happened. I chanced a glance at his face. It looked disappointed. I went back to staring at the stick; that seemed safer.

When Reece spoke, he didn't ask why. He didn't scowl and curse the vast selfishness of the world. In fact, he didn't even sound disappointed; that was surprising enough to put a halt to my in depth examination of my shoes and it's small collection of bark. Immediately, he proceeded to explain just how dull the trip would've been, how hideous Madam Puddifoot's was, and that the elves in the kitchens are said to made much better Butterbeers if you could find them, but only if you asked nicely; all an explanation of just why he wasn't going to bother wasting his time going and why staying behind with me would be so much more fun.

Liar. But it made me feel much better.

Soon enough the bell rang, and, upon finally checking his schedule, he raced off to Charms, yelling a hasty goodbye as he went.

The surrounding corridor had steadily filled with my Gryffindor and Slytherin classmates by that time, and they watched him leave with a mixture of expressions. Confusion seemed to be popular at the time, and disbelief didn't even begin to describe the emotions displayed on some faces.

"Merlin, what concoction did you slip into his pumpkin juice, Night? He's all over you like a lost puppy." Black goaded, basking in the crowd's laughter.

"Now, now Padfoot, we mustn't be mean," Potter mock-chided, "It's not the fault of her Potion's skills she's had no friends until now." They guffawed rather stupidly, and I found myself pondering their uncanny resemblance to apes. Same mental capacity, similar sense of personal hygiene, and the ability to draw coos from little girls that remains to be understood. It was plain amusing, really.

"Shut up, Potter, I think it's great that she's made a friend," I watched, gobsmacked, as Lily Evans glared him down in my stead.

Potter's hand instantly made the customary nervous leap to the back of his head while his face and demeanour fought to be contradictory and remain as suave as possible. "Hey, Evans," his voice had dropped about an octave, into the squeaky/strangled zone that can only be classified as 'cool' in the mind of the thirteen year old male. Or ape, as the case may be. "I – ah – I completely agree, I was just tell Sirius here, what a tosser he is. Of course. I, er, how are you for lunch on Saturday? Hogsmeade weekend, you know. I heard the weather's supposed to be lovely, or at least as far as Scotland weather goes, only hailing most of the afternoon–"

Remus, ever the smart one, chose that moment to send a bony elbow into Potter's ribs, "Mate, you're taking about the _weather_," he whispered, eyeing Lily's annoyed but slightly amused face apologetically.

Potter's eyes widened, a slight blush heating his cheeks. "I do _not_ need tips about girls," he loudly proclaimed, then tried a subtle hair flick to further prove his point.

I rolled my eyes. My voice was unsteady and nervous, but I couldn't resist, "Potter here thinks he's learnt from the best."

Lily giggled. I took it as a good sign. "If by 'best' you mean Sirius, he should be slightly concerned. I'm pretty sure Black gets his tips from playboy magazines and chick flicks."

I'm not sure Black even knew what a television let along a chick flick really was, but the word was pretty self-explanatory, and he was back to defend his pride, "Not true. I'm a natural, you can't teach this level of awesome."

"Says the guy who calls himself the Girl Whisperer," I muttered despite myself. No one seemed to hear me, but that was probably for the best.

"I am all natural too!" Potter said, puffing up his chest in what could only be described as a chicken-like manner.

"Potter, I suggest you stop now, or you'll probably lose more than just an eyebrow," Marlene McKinnon, the sanest third year in all existence, pushed through the crowd to Lily's side, raising her own eyebrow to exaggerate her reference to the event of the previous week.

"But Lily, why wouldn't you want to go out with someone like me?"

Lily rolled her eyes and recited the whole 'I wouldn't want to go anywhere with anyone as conceited as you!' speech. Then the arguing started and they came up with new and exciting insults for each other (my personal favourite was still 'son of a moon-addled hedgehog'). It carried on in the same way it always did for too long, until Potter started talking about flowers.

Black chose that moment to descend into a chronic coughing fit wherein the word "whipped" was clearly distinguishable.

Lupin nodded, and Peter hesitantly agreed with a shy grin. Potter couldn't decide who to scowl at first.

Mercifully, the teacher opened the door and we filed in. Lily and her friends sat as far away from the Marauders as physically possible, effectively ending the confrontation.

Thankfully my feet managed to find their way into the classroom as my brain was otherwise engaged and couldn't offer its services. For the record, I prefer to call the action of contemplating events with great passion reflecting. It isn't brooding. I do not brood. Brooding is for old people.

I _reflected_ some more and weaved through the desks to the back of the room. No one spared me much attention as I took my usual seat. The teacher was hovering near a large silver chest and prodding it with her wand while muttering incantations with her head cocked to the side. I guess she may have been in her fifties. She had large silver framed glasses and crisp white robes that held a suspicious similarity to a dressing gown. Her head was topped with a fuzzy grey mass of hair and her expression was a mask of concentration. Overall she didn't look too threatening, but neither did Lily Evans, and it turned out she could cast a nasty eyebrow-banishing curse when necessary.

It would be interesting to see how she'd score compared to the past professors. First year was brilliant. Professor Plattel was a Curse-Breaker in Australia until he lost three toes to a possessed boomerang. Then he decided to resort to teaching, but he choked on his pumpkin juice one morning before the start of my second year and that put an end to all things to follow. Dumbledore must've been in a real rush to find another teacher after Plattel died, because for some unknown reason he hired Professor Klyde. He was worse than useless and managed to singlehandedly turned Defence into a huge hazardous joke. He died mysteriously before the end of the year, no one knows why. A popular theory was that the fifth and seventh years smothered him with pillows, but the Marauders swear he must've managed to strangle himself while trying to learn how to tie his shoelaces. Personally, I was inclined to lean towards the later.

The new teacher impatiently tapped her fingers until most of the class had nervously trickled in. We had the right to be apprehensive after the many disastrous lessons last year. You had to stay sharp in case the Professor spontaneously decided it was high time to learn how to defend one's self against, say, a giant flesh eating maggot.

"Right!" The teacher called enthusiastically, with a lot of volume for such a small lady, "I'm Professor Vance and I'll be your teacher this year until I'm eaten by a small flowering plant or otherwise killed. But until that terribly unfortunate day we have lots to learn. It's best we get stuck straight into it, so who knows anything about dark creatures, in particular, Boggarts?"

I resisted a grimace, managing to suppress that particular bad memory, but noticed many others couldn't. That lesson was educational, if nothing else. Being chronically afraid of falling as I was, I'd often wondered what would've happened if that last Boggart had managed to get near me last time. I hoped she wasn't about to give another one a chance.

I'm sure we could all answer the question, but apprehension was an effective silencer for most. Without fail, Lily's hand shot into the air.

With a highly practiced skill she regurgitated the information she'd read from some book or another, "A Boggart is a shape shifter with the power to turn into whatever a person fears most. The natural form of a Boggart is a mystery of magic, and it is unknown if a Boggart does, in fact, have a 'neutral' state as a popular theory states it may always be in a position of transformation, most probably the last victim's fear or forced form, until it encounters another."

"Excellent, ten points to Gryffindor." Lily's cheeks flushed with pride while she endured the death glares coming from the Slytherin side of the classroom with practiced ease.

"Yes," Vance continued, "Boggarts are particularly nasty creatures, but luckily there is a simple charm that can be used to repel one. I suggest you pay attention Mr Black, there's one in this room." She said with a slight smile on her face, leaning back against the silver chest casually. As she did the chest gave a slight jump.

Black detached himself from his hushed discussion with Potter. "Say what?" But before the teacher could reply, similar cries of distress came from all throughout the room. Vance finally managed to settle them all down but everyone still wore expressions of varying levels of stress and panic.

"The charm to deal with a Boggart is _riddikulus_. But the word alone isn't enough, what really destroys a Boggart is laughter."

Well that certainly would have been nice to know a few months ago. We stuffed up the laughing part, and when the first person to face it is afraid of giants…

Vance smiled reassuringly, "It's not all that difficult. The charm forces the creature to take the form of your choice. Make it funny and the Boggart doesn't stand a chance. Can anyone tell me how to spell actually works?" Vance brought her hands together. The single clap echoed in the dead silence of the room.

The light and cheery expression disappeared. "No one? Please tell me that you former teachers have seen fit to at least give you the fundamental understanding of what magic is?"

Her tone invited no answer or contradiction, but true to form, the Marauders disregarded this.

"But, Professor, we've been taught how to do the magic, isn't that enough?" Ah, Potter, bad move.

"Only if a primitive casting is all you ever aspire to achieve," she barked out starkly. "A true master of magic knows what it is they are doing and how it works, they understand that magic is more than a tool and it goes further than blood. Most people never struggle past the most basic form of magic."

Her tone softened, "Now, does anyone know what magic is? Just give me a definition. Or a guess, I'll take those too."

"Its energy," some boy from the Slytherin side of the classroom muttered.

She nodded in agreement, "To some extent. There is magical energy, but that's not what magic, in essence, is. Magical energy is simply just a form of energy that is particularly useful in conveying intention and travels through weak mediums, mainly air, in sometimes visible pulses. It is converted from other energy by a witch, elf, or any other magical convertor. Every action involves energy and forces. But magic isn't just an influential force either: that is what we refer to as magical force, and just gravity and friction does, it exists in the world and constantly impacts all things. There are Laws of Magic, dictating what magic cannot do, chief among which being that energy can't be created or destroyed, and similarly, the four fundamental forces cannot be altered. Normally, the only thing stopping sound energy turning into light is method and reason. _That's _what magic is. It's the missing link between intent and action. With the right intent, anything is possible. Depending on what signatures are exchanged by objects, magic can do four basic things. You may have heard of the four Layers of Magic?"

Silence. A few exchanged glances. More silence.

Professor Vance let her head fall onto her hands with a heavy sigh that was clearly exasperated, "We have a long way to go…"

She soon snapped back into full teacher mode, "The layers, or effects, have the ability to forge magical bonds, influence energy or forces, and alter what we perceive as an object in what you'd call Transfiguration. All spells are a combination or variation of the four basic effects of magic. I expect 11 inches on the Layers by next lesson." –cue the collective class groan– "But for now, I assume only a handful of you have ever picked up a Muggle textbook? Yes, that's as I thought, we'll just have to plough on regardless. Tell me, what forces act upon, say, a person standing still?"

"Gravity," I muttered, amazed that there was a question I could answer.

"Yes, but that's not all. A great wizard and alchemist, Isaac Newton, worked out that for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. So, when someone is standing on the ground their weight is causing gravity to act downwards onto the ground, but the ground meets that force with an opposite one. If the forces were unbalanced our hypothetical person would sink or rise. When forces are unbalanced there is motion, otherwise an object would be inclined to remain in its state until acted upon by a different force." As she spoke the chalk inscribed diagrams on the board. The stickmen all looked a bit like mashed potatoes. "So now can anyone tell me how _Wingardium Leviosa_ works?"

"You remove gravity?" Someone suggested.

"No. Ignoring the fact that gravity is one of the fundamental forces and unable to be influenced by magic, it doesn't just act upon an object and however amusing it may be, removing gravity would be marginally problematic."

"Then you increase the upward force exerted by the ground?"

"Exactly. It has the same effect as removing gravity but with less effort and issues: the object essentially becomes weightless and a little intent can have it moving around in no time."

The lesson continued in a similar manner for the remaining 47 minutes. My poor barely-Muggly-educated brain was forced to bring up long forgotten information just to be able comprehend half of what she was saying. I almost felt sorry for the Purebloods; they were watching her with gaping mouths.

I hung back after the class had been dismissed and waited until everyone had filled out before approaching her desk. I wasn't particularly looking forward to more information overloading, but my fruitless attempts at producing even a hint of a patronus was grating on my nerves more than it probably should have.

By way of an explanation, I didn't expect myself to be able to pot evil plants or mix nasty concoctions in a cauldron, but spells were my forte, I hadn't encountered a single spell I couldn't conquer with enough time. It had become a matter of pride. It was personal. But more pressingly, it was really, really annoying me.

I was nervous. Talking to people, much less adults, was not something I generally excelled at. Of course, I had no idea how the correct social interaction was meant to proceed, I had to improvise and say the things I thought might possibly be right. Starting with some form of – I think they call it an icebreaker? – was probably the best way to begin.

"I want to learn how to cast a patronus."

Or I could just out and say it. No manners, no small talk, not even a warning. Oops.

"Oh, er, sorry. I meant could you maybe-please, teach me to, you know, cast a patronus?" Not my finest work. I think she managed to glean a meaning from my rabble though. That takes skill.

I'd expected a number of scrutinising questions, mainly at why a soon-to-be thirteen year old witch would want to cast a patronus. I had the answer prepared, it saved the mess of searching for an answer on the spot, but in following with the pattern, my knowledge on the predictability of the human race was, well, wrong.

"You're prepared to work hard?"

No moral related questions, nothing. Sure, I could work with that; one word answers were my favourite, "Yes."

"You sure? This magic is very advanced, it's not some trivial spell. It requires high concentration and remarkable skill, or, for the lesser mortals, understanding works just as well. But it's hard earned knowledge, it takes brains and guts to pull off."

Yeah, I'd gathered that much already. Thanks. "Yes."

"Alright then. On top of the essay I've already set, researching shield and repelling charms may prove beneficial. We all have to start somewhere, and, personally, I always love to start with the basics."

I didn't really know what to say to that, I settled for, "Ok."

She turned back to the giant chest, clearly dismissing me. I had to run, and even then I barely made it to my next lesson in time. It was just Charms, nothing remarkable. We had the class with the Ravenclaws, and I was lucky to get a desk to myself at the back. I found myself missing the Hufflepuffs; one in particular. He was a mystery, that boy.

You may be thinking; right, here we go, Reece is a nice guy –aww, ain't that sweet– but it's never going to last. If you are it's totally excusable, I assure you.

But I did see Reece Ottoman again, and quite often, actually. Later that night I was in the library battling my way through the Defence essay. It wasn't too hard, but it was not helped by the question that remained unanswered.

The question wasn't simple, not for me anyway. I just couldn't grasp why one Reece Ottoman seemed to want to be in my company. The most likely answer seemed to be what Reece had said himself: he found me interesting, and he thought my company was better than –and I quote– "those backstabbing Hufflepuff guys". I looked at the question and tossed it over in my mind, trying to find alternate, more plausible solutions, but I was going in circles, always arriving back at my original answer. It wasn't one of the defined and definite answers I preferred.

Reece made his appearance not five minutes after I'd grudgingly drawn that rusty conclusion. He announced himself with a very loud; "Do you known how long it took me to track you down?" Needless to say, after a telling off from the librarian we were kicked out, though quite impressively, I might add.

Reece's mildly startling and slightly creepy announcement unexpectedly made me feel guilty. After feeling guilty, I went on to feel plain lousy. I must've been the shittiest new friendish acquaintance on the planet. I resolved to make more effort, how hard could being considerate really be?

I'd known him for merely half a day, and already I felt closer to him than I ever had another human being. As half a day turned into half a week, I was coming to find that our odd relationship – that I could no longer deny was blossoming into a friendship – was well worth the extra effort.

I learnt a lot about him, first and foremost being that he loved to talk, so much so that despite me being the recipient, there was hardly a quiet moment between us. He had two older brothers, both in Ravenclaw, and Half-blood father and Pureblood mother. We liked mostly the same classes, although he didn't see the truth in the evil ways of Herbology and Potions. He also had a strange fetish with jam. One of the most common topics was Quidditch. His favourite team was from his hometown, the Appleby Arrows, and he led me to believe he wasn't too bad a player. These things he was quite happy to divulge, but there were a few touchy topics I learnt to steer clear of, namely details about his brothers, the fight he had with his dorm mates, and just the topic of politics altogether.

This immediately caught the attention of my curious nature, but I was practicing being considerate, so I held the questions down.

With all his jabbering I was well aware that the Quidditch season had officially begun, unfortunately. The first match of the year was never short of… interesting. The novelty never failed to strike everyone, and tensions between houses peeked. There was plenty of suspicion, backstabbing and countless other dirty sabotaging techniques. As a person commonly part of the collateral damage, I can assure you that being caught in the crossfire was not an enjoyable experience.

Our schedules didn't cross much, but it turned out we had Herbology together. He happened to work very well with plants, which brought about a significant drop in my tally of plant related near-death experiences per lesson. He couldn't stop them completely of course, I was far too good at annoying things for that, but generally a panicked, "Don't poke that, it'll eat your face!" was help enough.

I was soon presented with another pressing question: how did he survive the buffeting of my person repellent for hours a day? I couldn't answer that one at the time, but I hoped in was just a matter of waiting and watching. I found that the prospect didn't bother me; I fear I may have even enjoyed his company.

Saturday came, as Saturdays tend to do. It was the first weekend after I'd met Reece, and a long conversation later, his superior coercion skills resulted in it taking less time than my resilience would care to admit to get me down onto the Quidditch pitch.

It was really only the mention of pineapple that had gotten me from the sanctuary of the castle. But after looking around, I noticed there was no pineapple in sight and I was immediately suspicious, "You're serious about this? What are we even doing here?"

Almost everyone else was at Hogsmeade, but Reece had kept his unofficial promise and remained behind with me.

His answer was almost fiercely determined. "We are going to have fun, and yes, I am going to be totally serious about it." He grinned at that. I rolled my eyes.

He frogmarched me to the broom shed, and after pulling out one of the dreaded sticks with twigs on them, he held the broom out to me.

I glared at it, the horrible nasty thing. "I don't fly."

He tilted his head in a way I assumed was curious. "You can't?"

Was I somehow not clear? "I could, if I wanted to. But I don't."

"Well, why not?" He asked as if it was a simple matter. It wasn't, I couldn't just describe what I was feeling, there was a nasty level of fear there I wouldn't care to admit.

He took my lack of an answer as a positive response, "Then grab the broom and get in the air. Relax, nothing bad will happen."

I really didn't have much of a choice, Reece was one of those people who'd never shut up until they got their way, and I'd never have the patience to deal with that.

For the first half hour or so, I hovered no more than a few millimetres off the ground. Really, I've jumped higher. When I finally decided to go properly fast, most of the time my feet brushed the ground. You could've traced my route by the flattened and occasionally uprooted grass left in my wake.

Reece followed me, shouting encouragement, but occasionally he'd laugh and say I looked like a large psychotic swallow zipping around along the ground. Then he'd quickly fly out of range so I couldn't wallop him. See, he knew me too well, even back then.

It was thrilling and terrifying like nothing I'd ever experienced. The wind was deafening, I couldn't hear anything besides its howling. But I was hesitant to move onto the next challenge: throwing the quaffle. Removing my hands from where they'd possessively latched onto the broom handle seemed like a bad idea. Reece convinced me otherwise. He pelted me with the stupid thing from above and, as it turned out, he had quite good aim. I convinced my nerves to detach a hand, catch it, then hurl it back. By some miracle it went in his general direction and with enough force to send him into a backflip. We both laughed at that.

The quaffle had a bit of weight to it, and each time I caught it my balance would shift, the broom would dip, and my heart would leap to my throat. Experiencing these near-painful encounters but somehow avoiding a face full of dirt each time was immensely satisfying.

We played around for hours. At one point Reece said, with notable surprise, that I was getting the hang of it. He then suggested that we should find some bludgers to make things more interesting. I fiercely opposed that idea, instead calling for a lunch break to appease The Beast within.

In the empty Great Hall, our eager discussion about the finer points of the game seemed oddly loud. But we quickly got distracted and the conversation took a different turn.

"Come on, just try it, it's really not as bad as it looks." He was gesturing to one of his sauce, jam and cheese sandwiches.

"Nah thanks, I'll pass."

"Just a bite!"

"I'm not keen for a trip to the hospital wing; if your choice ingredients don't kill me the matron just might."

At his disbelieving look I persisted, "She hates me, she'll see my weakened state as a prime opportunity to finish me off."

"Unless you're allergic to pure awesome, the sandwich won't hurt you. You didn't want to try flying, but that was fun, right? Just one bite. One _tiny_ bite."

There's nothing more annoying than undisputable logic.

"Ah, _fine_, but when I do this, you're going to have to eat one of those pineapple skewers dipped in peanut butter," I offered, splattering jam onto a slice of bread as I did so.

He shook his head, grinning slightly, "If I have to eat a whole skewer, you have to eat a whole sandwich."

"No way! The sandwich has four ingredients, the skewer only has two."

"It has three: the stick definitely counts."

"Only if you eat it, and even then I'm still one up."

"I'll add some jam to mine too then."

Ah, not so fast! He liked jam. "Nope. Jelly."

"Fine then."

"Fine."

We stared at each other, our bizarre concoctions on the plates before us. He looked determined to win, I imagine I looked the same. The atmosphere reminded me of my first duel in DADA. I lost that one, but only barely. I'd never liked losing by any margin.

"GO!"

Who made it a race, you ask? I have no idea, I just stuffed the sandwich in my mouth and took a bite. That was a mistake- I almost gagged. The texture was horrible: slimy, chewy and dry all at the same time. Then there was the taste; it was a like a bunch of too sweat berries had been passed through a cow, and then garnished with something overpoweringly tangy.

Reece wasn't faring much better. The squishy pineapple and clammy spread probably didn't go well together, and the stick and jelly didn't seem to be agreeing with him. Ha.

I finished first, while Reece was still chewing the last of his skewer. I figured that mean I'd won, but Reece wasn't having any of it, resulting in round two, which was soon followed by rounds three, four and so on.

I won't name everything we came up with, mainly because I try to forget, but also because just imagining it will likely give you nightmares and/or put you in intensive care.

The next was one of my favourites, I was quite proud of coming up with the onion, honey and egg blend. But then Reece made a duplicate and officially declared it a race, and I was feeling marginally less thrilled. A few minutes later I lost the round.

The lemon burger was a product of Reece's imagination. It was basically just a whole lemon and some unidentified meat encased in bread. It was worse than it sounded.

The recipe of Sweet Revenge: half fill a pitcher with pumpkin juice and milk, add three parts chicken and two parts salt. Garnish generously with fruit loops and chilli for added effect. Mix well. Present the smoothie and with a little sympathy, but the dish is best served cold.

I'll say no more, other than that Bertie Botts could take lessons from us, our imaginations were _that_ sick.

Too many gruesome dishes latter, and a visit to the Hospital wing was looking increasingly like a good idea. But after barely eating an unmentionable meal, I'd brought the scores back to a tie, and I had one more idea.

A few metres down the table sat an untouched jar of vegemite. I made the mistake once of applying the mysterious spread rather too generously to a piece of toast. The stuff is nice, but I'll say it's strong, and leave it at that.

I pointed at it, a wicked smirk on my face, "There. Three large tablespoons."

He didn't look concerned, "That it? A'right, what is it?"

"Vegemite. You've never had it?"

"Nope."

Even better. I resisted a smile, "You have no idea what you've been missing."

He retrieved the jar, grabbed a spoon, and dug in. He shovelled in the first spoonful quite confidently, but that soon changed. The first sign of trouble was his eyes watering. He pulled the half eaten spoon from his mouth and chocked the rest down.

I grimaced, glaring at the spoon reproachfully. "Thanks for that, I may just lose my lunch." Not that I'd be too disappointed.

"What is in that?" He yelled hoarsely.

I ignored him, carrying on with a more cheerful tone, "They've sold it quite cleverly, haven't they? Packing it in an innocent jar to confuse the victim into believing that it's actually edible in quantity. Very smart."

He gagged down the rest of the first spoonful, then miserably went for the second, "Ugh, I think it just moved!"

I resisted an evil cackle. It was moment appropriate, but would probably creep him out.

The second spoonful followed the first. His eyes were seriously streaming now.

"You give up?" I asked eagerly.

He hesitated for a moment, then nodded.

I stood victoriously, and yes, such an action is quite possible if you're feeling smug enough.

"Come on, buddy," I said a little sympathetically, watching him guzzle down goblet after goblet of pumpkin juice, "Points for trying."

"Really?"

"Sure, I guess we can still leave it as a tie, but just as long as we don't have to have a rematch."

He blanched at the thought. Maybe my nasty imagination made him slightly nervous. That was probably just as well. "Deal."

We shook on it, just because that's what friends do.


	8. Chapter 7

I hesitantly peered around the corner. The strained morning sunlight filled the shadows of the apparently empty corridor. Fortunately the sharp angle let the light reach into the places more likely to hold traps. It was one of the less frequented walkways, but one could never be too cautious, especially at that time of year. With that in mind, I double checked it, just to be safe, "It's all good!"

"We agreed on 'it's all clear', where'd the 'good' come from?" Reece muttered, following me into the corridor, twirling his wand idly.

"Why does it matter?"

"Details, Jen, details." A particularly careless flick of his wand sent purple sparks flying in all directions. He gave a surprised yelp as some hit the stone at his feet and explode into miniature red and blue fireworks. I barely dodged a whizzing purple thing in time. Instead of mutilating my eyebrows it flew over my shoulder and startled a portrait.

"… Sorry, complete accident, I swear!"

My eyes narrowed, fingers twitching towards where my wand rested in my robes. Had it happened a few weeks ago I would have hexed him without question, and had it been anyone else I probably would have thrown them from a window. But I realised, with no small level of surprise, that I wasn't even properly angry, not really.

I watched him cower under my glare for a few seconds longer before snorting. I allowed my lips to break into an amused grin, "Come on, we can't keep the malicious pranksters of Hogwarts waiting."

I dare say I should probably explain. Simply put; Halloween at Hogwarts was a difficult time for the traversers of the school, but it was downright nasty for the little people.

For me, it was a time to bunker down and hide. From experience, I knew I'd have to sneak through at least the sixty hours preceding the feast unnoticed to avoid being part of the day's attraction. We'd made it by safely, for the most part, even though the small tasks of walking into the Great Hall was nigh on suicidal, and strolling down the corridors was a chore.

It was Halloween morning, which would usually mark the point of only twelve or so more hours of being attacked by biting cutlery, chased by motion activated and very persistent gargoyles, and jinxed by idiots hiding behind tapestries.

If only that were all.

Every decade or so, the teachers took leave of their senses and the first Quidditch match of the year fell on or around the Dreaded Day. The Quidditch match happened to be the next day, so while the tension between the Lions and Snakes was already at boiling point, it could only get higher. Both houses had steam to let off, but, strangely enough, it was the only time of year where I was more likely to be caught in the middle of a house spiff by accident, rather than on purpose. It was only my unfortunately well-developed encyclopaedia of counter-jinxes that kept my out of that Madam Pomfrey's evil lair.

Maybe Reece didn't fully comprehend the severity of the situation (he was occasionally blissfully naïve) but he soon would if we stumbled into a serious Marauder trap. I even made room for 'Get Brutally Bludgeoned By Four Berks' in my agenda.

After days of sneaking around it was coming to an end. We just had to survive the day and the feast, sleep in to avoid the final attempts at Quidditch related sabotage, and things would hopefully be back to normal soon after the game.

That is still a very long time when you're fleeing from every shadow, including, at times, your own.

We'd just entered no-man's-land, alternatively known as the invisible circle with a radius of approximately 150 metres around the Gryffindor common room. Definitely forbidden territory, but it was the fastest way down to the kitchens. Any other mildly safe route would send us past the Ravenclaw tower, and we'd already discovered that they set up precautionary charms to get rid of intruders. Apparent they figured a talking doorknob didn't quite cut it as a security system.

Muffled scuffling sounds emanated from a broom closet not far from our position and we both froze.

"The Otter to mission control, The Dark Night, requesting permission to investigate. Out." He whispered.

I stared at him oddly, seriously questioning his sanity and wondering where he picked up the lingo, along with the bad puns on our names. All I could think to say was, "You know what Batman is?"

"Nothing beats muggle comics. Isn't that how people talk in these kind of situations?"

Clearly he read fiction too often. "Only if you're determined to appear brain damaged. Come on, let's get out of here."

"The Otter repeating request to check it out. Er… Out."

I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose, before reverting to sarcasm, "Does the Otter wish to be flattened in a battle of epic proportions and made into a furry hat?"

"Fine, be that way. You go ahead; I'll just take a look." Reece said as he took a step towards the sound.

That set alarm bells ringing. "No, I'll do it. I still remember the last time you tried to check a corridor for traps."

Stupid boy. There were times to be curious, and Halloween wasn't one of them.

I gently opened the door, aware that Reece was trying to sneak a glance over my shoulder. It was much worse than I'd feared, even worse that a Dementor: a couple snogging. Gross. My poor, scarred-for-evermore eyes took in the scene in seconds. They were crushed into a corner and therefor completely violating all that I hold holy in regards to personal space. They pulled their lips apart with a squelching plunger-out-of-toilet sound as they turned to face me. Both supported mattered nests of hair and makeup smudged on their mouths, cheeks, even their noses somehow, and their clothes were crumpled but thankfully still on their bodies. Their distinctively peeved expressions would've been almost hilarious if they'd been aimed at anyone other than me. I shielded my eyes before I could sustain permanent damage and failed to confirm their identities.

I backed away quickly. When I failed to supress a snicker I decided that it would be better for my health if I was to just run away.

I almost crashed into Reece, but I managed to grab his shoulder and pull him after me, "Abort the mission. Retreat!"

"What's the problem?" He asked, not quite matching my eagerness to escape. Maybe my laughter was misleading. That was excusable, I guess. He'd only known me for just over a month, he probably hadn't really noticed my unparalleled ability to identify the worst possible way to react to a situation and then execute it in full force.

"Angry bloke and an annoyed girlfriend." I struggled to find a way to convey the sheer shitiness of the situation in a way he would comprehend.

Then, inspiration struck, "Code red!" I hollered in his ear. It got his attention, and it also served as retribution for the damage to my eyes he had inadvertently caused.

I glanced over my shoulder, seeing the guy stagger out of the closet. Beneath the layer of lipstick and foundation, his face was turning from pink to a satisfying shade of crimson. It wasn't a blush, I'd learnt enough about recognising emotions to recognise he was livid. Nevertheless, of course we had to stop and laugh at him – that was out of the question – but it slowed us down and Reece had to pull me out the way of the curse that followed. Then we ran for our frickin' lives.

We sprinted down the corridors, right through Lion territory, giggling like the idiots were so obviously were. Luckily there weren't many people about, and those that were had to flatten themselves against the walls to avoid being bowled over.

"I think we'll have to bypass lunch, head for the grounds!" Reece shouted.

I groaned, my stomach protesting when it realised he was right. Balls.

"No, not that way!" My yell stopped him in his tracks, I pushed him through a tapestry and we legged it down the winding set of stairs instead, "That's the long way, and I'm a lazy sod."

We left the castle in what had to be record speed. The grounds were far more crowded than I would've liked, but no matter. "Where now?"

"Hagrid's," he said, taking my hand and towing me along before I could stop and rest.

"You… know… Hagrid?" I said, slightly in awe, but otherwise just out of breath.

"Yep!" That meant more exercise. Great.

We finally stopped at his doorstep after very nearly falling down the hill.

Reece nocked on the door, and a reply of "Won' be a moment," was heard through the wood.

My joins protested as I flopped onto the grass, barely missing a particularly large pumpkin.

"Well, that was certainly entertaining." Reece said sardonically.

I opened a bleary eye, tempted to kick him for that comment, but that would require effort. Revenge would have to wait.

It was very nice down there on the grass. I could see strange birds playing in the canopy of the nearby forest, they made the strangest noises, not at all like the birds back home. They seemed more… exuberant, somehow. Perhaps it was the country, or maybe it was the magic, I didn't know.

"What are you doin'?" Reece announced his presence with his usual noise flair. I opened my eyes to see his face overhead.

"Regenerating," I sighed. It wasn't even a frustrated get-out-of-my-personal-space-bubble sigh. I didn't know why he cared, maybe it was that 'making conversation' crap he'd introduced me too, I wouldn't have a clue.

"I like grass, it's very cool and fresh." I admitted. Again, not sure where that came from, I don't usually do the whole chat thing. Must've been the birds.

Reece smirked and raised an eyebrow. "Riiight."

I shrugged as best one can while lying down. "I know I'm strange." There was a clump of small blue flowers conveniently close to my hand. Then, with unaccounted revenge in mind, I quickly picked them and magically banished them so they stuck in his hair.

Thankfully, Hagrid chose that moment to open his door. I say thankfully, because, although just inside the doorway there was a loaded crossbow almost taller than I was and a dog that probably could have had me for breakfast, after looking at Reece's expression, it was almost comforting in comparison.

Still damn amusing though.

We were happily ushered in, Hagrid seemed thrilled to have guests, which was a great relief because, despite my earlier comments, a huge man with a crossbow and a bloodhound was not the type of person I'd want to go out of my way to annoy.

I felt even smaller than usual sitting at the abnormally large table and chairs, probably because my feet barely brushed the ground. Hagrid rushed around to make tea and cakes –bless his soul– while I felt strangely out of scale.

But Reece fit right in. "Hi, Hagrid! I want you to meet Jenny, she's a friend of mine, bla bla bla-" Ok, so maybe he didn't really say _exactly_ that, but that's how I interpreted it after I zoned out. The cabin was amazing, there were all kinds of incredibly interesting looking items I couldn't put names to. One clump of slivery stuff almost looked like horse hair.

But I digress. I tuned back into their conversation when they reached the point of discussing the positive aspects of owning a pigmy man-eating porcupine.

Of course, I was bursting with questions to ask, did they even exist? Was that what the crossbow was for? Should I be concerned? But I couldn't ask all those, or even some of those. I didn't have the social skills of Mr Social-Chameleon over there. Hence, I found myself sitting there, shifting uncertainly, with my feet swinging ridiculously. Reece attempted to drag me into the conversation a few times, but his words just bounced off me. I'd never done well in crowds. Two other people definitely classifies as a crowd. Sometimes, if the person or their accompanying ego is large enough, even _one_ person is a crowd.

As testament to how much I'd changed, it took me the best part of twenty minutes, but I just couldn't help myself in the end. "Do pigmy man-eating porcupines have teeth? Are they native to Britain?"

'_Reece is a bad influence.' _I thought immediately after snapping my mouth shut, '_That was, what, two whole sentences? I'm turning into a regular chatterbox.'_

After that marginally disturbing revelation, I had to wrestle my concentration back to the matter at hand. I saw Hagrid's kind dark eyes light up and I realised I must've missed the standard 'wow, she can speak' moment while I was dealing with my own surprise of the same kind. But that was that; suddenly it wasn't hard to speak to him at all.

The hours wasted away. Soon the tea was ready and it was delicious. I even made a noticeable dent in one of the aptly named rock cakes after some time chiselling away at it. It was easier once I dipped it into the drink and it gained the consistency of muddy gravel, a significant improvement over what previously felt like first grade cement.

I decided I liked Hagrid, unique cooking and all.

...

Reece insisted we go to the feast. Not that I listened. It was really only thanks to my stomach, which prevails over all, that we found ourselves seated at the Hufflepuff table steadfast ignoring the strange looks we received and the occasional glares from Reece's dorm mates. He still wouldn't tell me what he did to so thoroughly piss them off.

The Hall looked brilliant. The glowing jack-o'-lanterns grinned down on us from where they floated. Occasionally they were knocked by Peeves as he bounced around the room and popped up behind first years, scaring the life out of them. Hoards of bats occupied the ceiling, and a skeletal orchestra played eerie music on bone instruments. The ensemble acted as a barrier between us and the teachers. The table was less crowded there, probably due to the eerie racket, so that's where we found ourselves sitting.

Food appeared, and the sound barrier was breached. The term 'food' is used loosely here. It was really just a gross assembly of all manner of sweat things the health minister of Scotland would doubtlessly frown upon. I repeat: delicious.

I don't know how long I spent gorging myself, and the food just kept coming so there was no sure way to tell, but eventually I packed my stomach to the max.

Or, the apparent maximum, anyway. I was staring at the chocolate pudding trying to mentally calculate whether anymore would fit, when I looked up the table and met the eyes of some guy. Dark hair, pale skin, slightly shorter than average stature. I recognised the scowling face and I probably should've been able to put a name to it, after all we'd had Herbology with the Hufflepuffs since first year.

He met my eyes for a second before being reeled back into conversation with a mousy haired girl, Tracy, I think her name was.

"Hey," I muttered, nudging Reece to get his attention, "Who's that?"

He made a face. "His name's Tony Branxton, doesn't like me much, and I guessing that now includes you by extension. Just ignore him, or pelt him with nuts if you're feeling particularly malicious, he's allergic."

"Is he the guy you had a fight with?" I blurted out, breaching the Touchy Topic. My brain-to-mouth filter was malfunctioning. I figured it was because my limited brain power was diverted to the massive task of managing digestion.

I waited for the dark look, for him to clam up and descend into one of his moods. I shouldn't have pried, it was a royally stupid thing to do.

"How'd you know we fought?" He was guarded, certainly, but mainly just confused and wary.

"Guessed."

He sighed, "Look, I'll tell you, a'right? Just not tonight."

I nodded quickly. Honestly, I was just glad Prissy Reece was still at bay, Merlin knows we certainly didn't need a visit from _him_.

The conversation slowly got more comfortable after that. Our food-addled minds even decided that, although it was part of the reason we'd spent the last few days living like front line marines, we were still looking forward to the ensuing Quidditch match. I was cut off while saying I was particularly anticipating seeing Potter, the smarmy git, fall off his broom, but only after we'd been ensured victory over the other greener smarmy gits, by the headmaster. I had to settle for picturing it, but it was no less satisfying.

"I hope you have thoroughly enjoyed yet another magnificent feast, and now, before we conclude the evening and most of us retreat to our beds, we once again have the presentation put together by the staff for your enjoyment."

For the last twenty years at least the professors had put together a sort of… magical laser show, if you will. Apparently it's originally a spooky-fied story involving the heritage of the school or something similar, but it hardly even stayed that way. I'm lead to believe that it's quite easily tampered with, because the Prewett twins got their claws into it during my first year, and before them I'm sure someone else would've messed with it.

The previous year was kind of disappointing. I heard the some sixth years tried to sabotage it, but it was poorly planned and only smoked somewhat hazardously. It was most definitely not at all up to par with the Prewett production.

The start was ordinary. Giant, three dimensional starry figures, each at least ten metres high, formed from the swirling cloudlike mist. The skeletal orchestra started a mournful tune to accompany the battle scene that began to play out. It involved the four founders, or at least that's what I assumed, as the guy who clearly liked red and another bloke in green started having a go at each other. They carried weapons along with their wands. Gryffindor's sword left a trail of sparks in its wake and turned anything it hit back into mist, like Slytherin's eyebrow, for example. Our old mate, Salazar, had some sort of scythe, I think, along with his now slightly improved bad looks. Hufflepuff had a staff, which she used to try and break the two apart, and the last, Ravenclaw, had a bow she looked tempted to use. It was probably a re-enactment of some important fight containing some message, but I sleep through History, so it all went straight over my head.

But then there was a bang –the well-known precursor to all things bad– and then everything went unnaturally quiet. Gryffindor glanced around, confused, Helga scratched her head, Ravenclaw only blinked, and Salazar picked his nose idly, then the phantom Founders froze, as if stunned. The hall erupted into a chorus of mutterings, many were tossing up between apprehension and anticipation.

The murmuring reached full force, Dumbledore made to stand, but he never even reached the edge of his seat. The main lights in the hall flickered out, the doors creaked and closed with a decisive thud. The dimmed light from the jack-o'-lanterns only allowed me vision enough to faintly make out the closest Hufflepuffs. In the strange glow and deep shadows, their faces looked gaunt and pale. Reece made an effort to look brave, but only wound up pulling off some vaguely constipated grimace. Someone screamed.

McGonagall called for us to remain calm, but her request was largely ignored.

Some sound joined the fray. It started deep and low; an undertone to the whispering of the Hall. It intruded on the back of my conscious and seemed to get under my skin. The hairs on the back of my neck rose. I fidgeted, trying unsuccessfully to locate and identify the source. It grew in volume, morphing until it was distinguishable as laughter. Harsh, insane, cruel. You know the kind. All other noise was forced into the background, soon everyone fell silent, holding their breaths.

The groan of the door split the silence, the laughter died down. The temperature dropped at least ten degrees. I think something slipped in, but I couldn't be sure. My eyes met Reece's, he looked downright ill. A slight gust stirred the air and brushed against the skin on the back of my neck. I whirled around, wand drawn, trying to see anything in the gap between the house tables. _Something_ passed there, I swear. Whatever it was, it blended into the shadows well, but the glow revealed the black material of the cloaked figure as it moved down the aisle. It made next to no noise, besides the faint rustle of cloth on cloth, and it seeming to hover centimetres above the stone floor. Those surrounding me froze. They saw it too. At least I wasn't hallucinating.

Each second took an age too pass. I wasn't stupid enough to want anyone's undivided attention at that moment, but I was also surely tempted to use _Lumos_ and just figure out what the hell was going on.

One of the Puffs around me let out a light squeak, resulting in me nearly jumping out of my skin. I let out a shaky breath and decided to sod the consequences, I was sick of the unnerving turn of events.

"_Lumos_." My whisper was deafening, but it did bugger all. Really, I don't think I'd even expected it to work, otherwise surely the professors would have had the place shining like an afternoon in July.

Suddenly, blue sparks whizzed from the four corners of the hall and up into the ceiling where they struck the projection of the Founders and burst almost like lightning, silhouetting the eerie frozen figures momentarily.

I didn't have time to ponder this, however, as the Hall's lights returned. I was momentarily blinded by the sudden brightness. I tried to blink the dark spots out of my sight, and then set my reclaimed vision on the scene. Nothing notable had changed. Odd.

Someone crawled out from under the table not far from where we were sitting. I rolled my eyes; it hadn't been _that_ scary. I'd almost dismissed the matter as unimportant, but a hiss from the Gryffindor table drew my attention to Lupin, who obviously failed in an attempted subtle warning for the person, a boy, to stay down. When instead that person deftly jumped onto the table, Lupin groaned and head-butted the bench, just barely missing an innocent bowl of ice-cream. McGonagall rose from her seat at the disrespect for school property, her glare sharp enough to cut diamonds.

That boy was hard to mistaken for another. "… Black?" He turned at the call of his name and gave me a sly wink, which usually would've provoked a hex on my part, but my muddled thoughts had short-circuited my brain. All I did was blink, but give it a minute or two.

More sparks, orange this time, whizzed through the doors and straight to the ceiling where they met the frozen projection of the Founders, instantly triggering their motion once again. Poor buggers look mighty confused with the turn of events. Helga shrugged, and they started their act from where they'd left off, but not for long. Ravenclaw changed first. Her hair thinned and lost its shine, her skin wrinkled and turned a most unpleasant shade of green, her head fell to an unnatural angle, and she shuffled awkwardly. The newly formed zombie brought a petite (and half rotten) hand to her lips and gave little un-zombie-like giggle. She turned to face the house of her name, put a hand on her hip and stated in a faux stern manner: "Girls and gents of Ravenclaw, for the sake of all eyes, study a little less and grab your selves some sleep, would you? Just eat everyone else's brains."

At this point, all hell pretty much broke loose. Some laughed, and the blue and silver house wasn't overly pleased, but really, that imitation of some of them around exams was uncanny.

Further teasing commenced. Salazar was soon turned into a vampire and made some shrewd comment about how his house needed to crawl out of their dungeons more often to lest they risk "acquiring a most displeasing pasty completion".

Helga had a go at Hufflepuff next. She tripped, and when she managed to get back up her head had taken the shape of a bull, she was a minotaur and told her house it was fine to be a bit of a cow sometimes.

I was expecting special patriotic treatment of Gryffindor, so excuse me if I was a little surprised when Godric gave a little squeal and turned into the most ridiculous looking monster I'd even seen. It had the front half of a lion's body and mane but a crocodilian face and the back half was the wrinkly butt of a hippopotamus.

The Godric beast ignored the instantaneous laugher, stood on his awkward mismatched legs and shook his mane. "Gryffindor, you must aspire to be like me. Brave as a lion, obviously, and as-"

The collective roar of laughter from the Hall rose to a level Godric couldn't ignore. The creature scowled, or at least I think it did. The expression had an amusing effect on the crocodile face and pulled it in unnatural angles, only making it look even stranger. "Silence! I am Ammit the Devourer, the Egyptian gods' pet soul eater." He paused to let his words sink in, but it didn't have the desired effect, apparently, "Stop laughing at me!" He all but whined, his eyes watering, a hurt expression on his face.

Those crocodile tears did it; even I couldn't hold back a giggle at the absurdity, which naturally meant that quite a few people were approaching the point of falling off their chairs from mirth.

The moment the new and improved Founders cleared out of the figurative spotlight, Black gave a whistle, took a bow, and started extravagantly conducting the skeletal orchestra, waving his wand like a muggle conductor. Skeleton One began the piece with a drum solo, bashing anything in sight –the chairs, floor, and other skeletal heads– everything was fair game. Skeleton Two jumped down from the back, it's fingers a blur, wielding what was previously used as a violin in an interesting interpretation of a guitar. A cello player adopted the base guitar, another abandoned its flute in favour of singing instead, and the last handed it's triangle to Dumbledore (who hummed along to the music, striking the instrument every so often) and then it took to the floor with surprisingly good dance moves. The skeletal orchestra was transformed into a rock band playing a slightly distorted version of 'Bad to the Bone'. They were alright, so far as the un-dead go anyway, especially when exercising a terrible pun.

The projection of the ten metre high dancing zombie, vampire, minotaur and Devourer danced in time. The zombie was a little slow, but the vampire was smooth, the minotaur was buff and the Devourer was uncoordinated but otherwise lively and bounced along happily.

The music got louder and faster, and soon the skeleton's singing was more aptly described as screaming. Just as things reached fever pitch, the stray smoke from the apparitions gathered above the door in the far end of the Hall. The billowing plume folded over itself. Wisps would stray from the mass before getting sucked back in. It got darker and larger, until it filled over half the ceiling and orange lightning flashed within. The mutant thundercloud got denser still, the flashes more common, until the eerie orange light lingered and the dyed smoke manifested into a giant jack-o'-lantern. That thing was the epitome of pure evil: dark and angular empty pits for eyes, and a giant gaping fanged mouth backlit with yellow fire which occasionally flickered out from between its teeth. The monster screeched and surged forward, trailing plumes of the near-black smoke and orange sparks; the whole thing resembled a nasty giant orange comet. It's fully open mouth spanned most of the room, the Founders never stood a chance. They were all swallowed in one mouthful and reduced to mist. But the jack-o'-lantern remained, hovering in the centre of the room. It settled for glaring around the place.

The skeletal rock band struck the final notes, and they rang out over the talk and tentative applause filling the Hall. People were hesitant to believe it was over, and rightly so. The note faded, and all eyes turned to the pumpkin, which began smoking more than before. It looked slightly agitated, but not for long. The presentation finished with the usual flair that almost literally had 'Marauder trademark' written all over it. The phantom manifestation of smoke and fire exploded. Sparkly pumpkin guts rained down everywhere. It was really quite pretty.

Stuff landed on my head, only it wasn't mushy pumpkin innards, but all manner of chocolates and lollies. Orange wrapped sweats covered every surface, including Mrs Norris's nose.

"Black! Get down from that table. You'll see me afterwards to serve the first in a very long line of detentions." A very disgruntled McGonagall attempted to bring the situation back to reasonable levels of control.

Black looked positively delighted at this outcome and took a bow to what somehow escalated to thunderous applause, "Thank you, I'd like to thank a few very special people for making this momentous occasion possible-"

"Quiet, Black." McGonagall's lips were as thin as I'd ever seen them.

"And you!" Her frown landed on the other grinning ¾ of the Marauders. "Don't think your involvement will go unpunished."

They didn't seem to mind either.

And that, my friends, is how the Marauders hijacked Halloween before essentially bribing their way to applause through a sufficient downpour of lollies.

Perhaps that was too harsh a judgment. It was the first of their pranks that didn't isolate a victim in pure bullying fashion, I'll admit I found myself clapping as well. They looked significantly too pleased with themselves.

Everyone left the Hall carrying armfuls of goodies, we Gryffindors were down a few points thanks to you-know-very-well-who and co, but it was some consolation to know that they were up quite a few detentions. Due to the nature of the prank, no one was really too miffed with them. Not even me.

I parted ways with Reece, but not without arranging to meet him at the Quidditch pitch in the morning.

I was ready to drop, but sleep would be hard to come by, as it turned out. The other girls had important business to attend to, namely planning their outfits for the following day. From what I gathered from their feverish conversations, there were many difficult choices one had to make before an appropriate guise could be assembled. Choices that would take _hours _to resolve.

First and foremost, there were the most pressing questions addressing the use of colour. It would have to be chiefly comprised of red items, or course, but the shades had to best suit the tone of one's skin, not to mention flatter the contours of one's body, and it couldn't clash with the assembled choice of gold accessories.

Of course, the lesser priority was the matter of the weather, and the threat of pending frostbite had to be balanced against appearance. Sacrifices had to be made. They were probably all going to die.

I didn't hang around for the final verdict, and chose instead to vanish into my four-poster and reinforce the curtains with strong muffling charms. They were barmy, the lot of them.

...

"Ladies, gentlemen, and those in between, let's hear it for Gryffindor!" Ben Cullen, sixth year Ravenclaw and commentator, waved off McGonagall's glare before continuing with his job. "It's Rivers, Shacklebolt, Longbottom, Prince, Potter, Gully and Arroyo!"

"Captain Rivers has put together a young team this year. Potter and Arroyo replace last year's chaser Wood and renown seeker Stevens, they have their work cut out for them, especially against Tredony's experienced team where he'll play with McLaggen, Nott, Goyle, Pine, Rosier and Doherty!"

"Yeah, Ben's got that right! Everyone on the Slytherin team is _old_. They're toast next year when they lose Tredony and Goyle, then Nott, Pine and Doherty are next!" Reece cackled delightedly, leaning over the railing to watch the teams enter the pitch. He looked funny with hexed red hair, though I don't suppose I looked much better. The hexed hair was a rite of passage, of sorts, and anyone who refused the treatment wasn't permitted to enter the Gryffindor stands. Looking out across the stands was bizarre and more than a little blinding, I could just imagine how it would look from the air.

Ben gave a whoop: "And they're off!"

"It's Slytherin with the quaffle; Nott to Tredony, back to Nott, then to McLaggen –quick fingers from the Slytherin chasers today– back to Tred- ooh, that's gotta hurt, fantastic bludger from Shacklebolt, and the quaffle is in Gryffindor possession!"

Insert much cheering here.

"It's Longbottom to Potter, Potter to Prince, and there's a bludger shotting around there, I have no idea who _that_ was aimed at, probably Prince, but she hasn't been on the team for three years for nothing, though I am questioning Tredony's choice of beaters. Longbottom with the quaffle now, approaching the rings, he shoots... and, ah, tough luck. Rosier passes it off to Nott."

There are many, many people who take Quidditch and all it entails very seriously and those dutifully followers produce a certain contagious atmosphere that was impossible to resist. If you were in the stands you were part of the screaming, occasionally dancing, near hysterical crowd. The seats were there only to be stood on, everyone had their wands out and were prepared to do anything from sending up red sparks to sending silencing spells at the opposition cheer squad to gain a leg up in the unofficial screaming contest. People got all dressed up for these events, and I've already mentioned the hair. You can't escape it.

For example, I had my own personal Quidditch expert/fanatic/commentator going by the name of Reece.

Me: "Get a load of how Prince dodged another one of those wayward beaters rather than the bludgers, what game is Goyle and Pine watching?!"

And then the expert: "Bastards! They're trying to knock out our best chaser. Beaters aren't there to gang bash players, how come they get to be stupid enough to get away with calling it an accident! Yeah, you bash _them_ with bludgers, go Shacklebolt and Rivers!"

The Slytherins flew the quaffle up the field, our keeper, Gully, had to dodge a bludger at the worst possible moment. It became inevitable, "Slytherin puts the first points on the board!"

The noise level doubled at least. Some groaned, others hollered encouragement, and Slytherin positively erupted. A few of the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws supporting the colours of silver and green could be seen to cheer, but they were soon put in their place. The first match between the Lions and Snakes was always brutal. You so much _think_ of the colour green and several hexes were flying through the air towards you. It's plain out perilous and bordering on _predatory_.

It's bloody brilliant.

An hour further on, and the scoreboard sat at 70 all. Damn Potter wasn't half bad. His ego was bound to be simply insufferable after that.

There had been no sign of the snitch and Slytherin was really beginning to play dirty. Broom tails were yanked, elbows were being rammed into heads, ribs, and other painful places, among other things. If Slytherin hadn't awarded us so many penalty shots we they would've been miles ahead.

"Arroyo has seen the Snitch!" Ben announced, and at once every eye in the stadium turned to the two seekers.

"Of course it's winner takes all here, this is the first test for the new Gryffindor seeker, she's got a few metres on Doherty but he's gaining!"

The small girl deftly dodged and flipped over and around bludgers and team members in her pursuit of the tiny golden ball I could hardly see. Her hand darted out as the Slytherin seeker drew level, and-

"GRYIFFINDOR WINS!"

I dare say a description of the moments following that announcement isn't necessary, which is just fine and dandy for me because, honestly, I just don't remember most of it.


	9. Chapter 8

Reece and I wandered the castle aimlessly, discussing the tactics of the Gryffindor team, and we partook in the obligatory Slytherin-bashing. Somehow the entire thing turned into an odd debate over whether playing beater for the Harpies would be more interesting than keeper for the Tornadoes.

It definitely would be. Fanatical Quidditch expert or not, he was still delusional.

I noticed, somewhat sadly, that we'd reached the Fat Lady.

"You'll be heading down to dinner now, I take it?" I asked.

He nodded the affirmative, "Hunger calls. Am I right in I'm assuming your housemates are throwing a massive party right about now?"

To my vast displeasure.

"Most bloody likely. There'll doubtlessly be excessive human contact and dancing." I paused with a resigned sigh. "But there will also be butterbeer, and there's no chance I'm missing that."

"You're mentioning _that_ while I only have left over pumpkin juice to look forward to? Not nice. I hope you feel guilty."

"Terribly. I might even feel so guilty that I'd have to swipe you a bottle." That's what friends do, no?

"Ah, excellent! I'll see you tomorrow, don't forget my butterbeer, will you?"

"Perish the thought."

There was a slam, making us both jump and turn to the portrait. It had been roughly opened from the inside, much to the Fat Lady's obvious chagrin, and one of the girls from my dorm stumbled out.

I may never know her destination, but she didn't get far before walking into the still open portrait. She fell on her back with a strange "fwoof" sound. It took all my self-control, and then some, to not laugh.

"Is that…?" Reece began, similarly incapacitated due to suppressed amusement.

"Chloe Walsh. Damn it, it appears that they've started on the alcohol."

"Hmm, well, good luck with that," he gestured, grinning. "My best wishes go out to you, I dearly hope you survive."

I rolled my eyes and gave him a shove. "Get going."

Reece walked down the corridor, and with a wave, he was gone.

Suppressing a grimace, I made my way over to the now vacated portrait hole, where the horrible noise and light emanated from.

The once soothing common room was the scene of mass carnage on an apocalyptic scale. The sound was deafening, and although the choice of music left much to be desired, people mindlessly danced to it anyway. I failed to navigate a way around the crowds and that only left the more direct route to the drink table and then the blessed girl's staircase. Straight. Through. I clutched my book bag as like a shield in an effort to stop my hands shaking with anxiety.

I forced my way past the first wave, the jumping teenage bodies constantly infringing on my near-sacred personal space. To make things worse, the stifling air seemed weighed down by the combination of the heat and the smell of drinks, food and sweat. I clenched my jaw and tried to ignore the way my head spun and the darkness encroached on the corners on my vision.

I flinched every time someone knocked me and my skin seemed to burn from wherever it made contact, especially the one time someone (who obviously didn't know me _at all_) grabbed my arm and asked me to dance. The drink table couldn't have been more than fifteen metres away but, needless the say, it was a very long trip. By the time I made it through the throng I felt out of breath, but that was probably due to near suffocation rather than any supremely awful fitness levels.

There was a small pocket of free space behind the table, enough room for a breather, but I only stayed long enough to grab a couple butterbeers and some food before jostling my way towards the girls' staircase. The crowd wasn't as thick and I made it to the foot of the stairs without only major dramas. But as Sod's Law would have it, a seventh year who'd been too heavy on the alcohol had emptied the former contents of her stomach halfway up the stairway to heaven. As I watched, the boy that sprung to her rescue managed to set off the defences and turn my only road to relative freedom into an unimpeachable slide with a rather disgusting mess at the bottom.

Feeling just about ready to wring someone's neck, I changed my trajectory and forged at path to the mercifully uncrowded study tables. They'd been pushed to the side of the room and I scrambled to get atop them, crawled as far from the mass chaos as I could get, and isolated myself in the only corner. I leant my back against the wall, squeezed my eyes tightly shut and tried to block all signs of the party from my awareness.

I stayed that way for a while, occasionally peering at the stairs to see whether the combined mess of teenagers and sick had been cleared. At one stage I'd distracted myself enough by mentally completing my transfiguration homework that I was thoroughly startled when a voice spoke out above my memorised wand movements and theoretical matter conversions.

"What are you doing over here, Night? I could've sworn you were a party person deep, deep down," Black deadpanned. He stood casually at the junction between the desks and the wall– too close, I was ready to break something, and his face was always a viable option.

After jumping about a foot I made sure my expression clearly displayed just how much I didn't appreciate his presence.

He just snorted. I noticed he was a little unsteady on his feet and his usual defined tongue was slightly slurred around the edges. I wasn't surprised.

"How'd you manage to get yourself sloshed already? It can't be later than half past seven."

"I'm not drunk! I'll have you know I'm still both articulate _and_ standing. I'm merely… tipsy." Unfortunately for his case, he had to lean back against the wall, more for balance than to maintain the appearance of one who thinks he is cool.

"Answer the question, Black."

"Well, as it turns out, the punch for us ickle kiddies isn't actually alcohol-free."

"And you didn't notice this while you were downing it by the barrel?" I asked flatly.

"Course I did!" He seemed scandalised by the very idea of implied ignorance. "_I_ spiked it!"

I quickly covered my amused snicker with a cough. The knowledge that I found his antics entertaining in any way would just encourage him and he'd never leave. Speaking of which…

"What're you doing here?" I asked, before realising there was more situation appropriate question. "And how long do you suppose you're staying?"

He shrugged. "Nothing better to do. As long as I feel like it." I gleaned the overall meaning: I was simply easy to annoy.

"Go bother someone else," I bit out, not in the state of mind to deal with him, or much of anything else, for that matter. My thoughts were a chaotic mess, I couldn't make sense of the random images, and my overwhelmed senses wore me down. Gaze staying over the crowd, my vision began to tunnel again, the walls and people closed in. Gulping rather strangled breaths, I turned back to face Black. It was easier to focus on the small unassuming things; the breadcrumb on Sirius's collar was far less threatening.

"Remus is busy talking to Evans about something boring, James is trying to listen in and Pete's with a girl. You got any other suggestions? The party is still too tame, the first and second years still awake and liable to go running to McGonagall if they see I've got this."

'This' turned out to be a glass bottle filled with amber liquid.

"Firewhiskey?"

He raised an eyebrow, "Not so innocent, Night?" With that he dropped his head back against the wall and took a swig.

I didn't really understand that. Was it an expression of surprise over the fact that I could recognise the drink and the implications associated with said familiarity, or I guess it could just as easily have been a challenge? It only made my head hurt trying to work it out, and I was already only too aware of my brain trying to mash itself to a past against the backs of my eyelids. Talking to Reece was much easier, I usually knew how to contribute and what to say, or at the very least what he was saying. But Black was something else entirely. In a word: complicated. He made me think, always a damn riddle. He just had to go and break all the rules.

He loosely offered me the bottle. Definitely a challenge. I gave up all hope of him leaving any time soon.

But could I take him up on that challenge? I'd been far too relaxed lately, my rigid barriers of caution seemed to be fracturing and leaking impulsivity. Who knew what I'd do if I ended up 'tipsy', I might even engage in normal activities, such as pleasant conversation or, Merlin forbid, _dancing_. Then again, maybe a fuzzy head would dampen the madness, and I could definitely appreciate dulled sense at the very least.

Eventually I decided to just sod it all. "Cheers."

I took a tentative sip and immediately the aptly named whiskey scalded my throat, causing me to splutter. I didn't manage to keep it all down and just about drooled all over myself. My head felt strangely lighter, almost airy, and I shook it to clear the unnerving feeling.

Black, that tosser, seemed amused by my reaction. I handed the bottle back and he made a point of stomaching a large amount without wincing. He was a nasty berk, but the overly loud music faded into the back of my mind, along with the overwhelming smells and lights. It may have been the alcohol, but I began to suspect that it was more due to Black posing as a useful distraction.

"I have a question." I, perhaps unwisely, decided to make good of that distraction.

He just raised an eyebrow to indicate he'd heard me.

"About yesterday's prank," I elaborated.

That piped his interest, he began firing off guesses; "How we made the giant pumpkin? How we got tones of sweats into Hogwarts without getting caught? Ooh, I know! How many skirts did I happen to look up when under the table?"

I rolled my eyes. "No, actually I was wondering how you got the skeleton to sing when it doesn't have any vocal cords."

There was that mocking bark-like laugh again, "It's called _magic_, Night. And the skirt thing was a record, by the way. Twelve in as many minutes. Beat James's best score by four and a half."

"I know that," I snapped, electing to deny that I'd heard the latter part of that answer. I had to strictly remind myself that violence was wrong. _Supposedly_. It was very tempting. I grated my teeth, mentally counting before I could trust myself to speak without hexing him. I gave it up as a bad job at around thirty-four.

"Was it some sort of sound projection, or was it a simulation of a vocal box, or-"

Black interrupted me by putting his hands over his ears and yelling about the agony of nerd speak until I shut up.

He hesitantly removed his hands with overly exaggerated caution, "It's really quite simple: they could talk already, I don't care how, we just had to teach them the lyrics. That effort was a product of the three key ingredients in any successful relationship: bribery, empty threats and shameless flattery. Shame Remus wouldn't let us teach them dirty limericks, really…"

"You are a despicable human being, you know that?"

He shot me a boyish grin, the one I _especially_ loathed.

"I would hex you, but I'm told it's lowly to attack an incapable, lowly-" Sirius was fascinated by some detail on the wall, "-oi! Listen to me when I'm insulting your manly pride!"

His grey eyes snapped back to mine rather unsteadily, "Huh, what? Maybe we should teach the Whopping Willow to dance the Time Warp."

I briefly wondered if those jumps in logic even made sense in his head. I signed, palm finding forehead. "Forget it. And go away." I added as an afterthought.

"But I'm _bored_!" He brought out the Puppy Face, accompanied by a healthy proportion of whining.

"Ugh, that actually works on people?" I was ashamed on behalf of my species. After a second thought, I rejected the association completely, promoting humans to my closest living relatives instead.

"More often than you'd think. You wouldn't believe how useful it is."

"You remind me of the stray mutt my neighbours adopted once. She would beg for food and attention constantly with those huge freaky eyes."

He grinned roguishly, "I suppose this dog was devilishly attractive, right?"

"It was a hideous flee-ridden beast, constantly picking up diseases. They eventually had her put down."

He laughed, "Charming analogy."

"I try."

"Sirius!" We both turned as the sitter arrived on scene.

"Hey, Remmy!"

Lupin rolled long-suffering eyes, and turned to me apologetically, "I'm sorry. Let me take this one off your hands. No, Sirius, put that down, how'd you find another bottle?"

Black's slightly lopsided grin still managed to look remarkably devious. "Secret stash number two."

Remus glared, "I'll deal with that later. Come on, James is looking for you."

"G'night." Black called to me, "Heheh, that's your name!"

"Ok, we're done here."

With that, Black allowed himself to be lead away, humming the Time Warp very out of tune.

I looked over to see the stairs had been cleared. I wondered how long they'd been that way. That wasn't how things were supposed to work, time shouldn't fly in the company of Sirius Black, it completely disrupted the natural order of things.

...

The rowdy sight of the Great Hall greeted my eyes the next morning. Bright sunlight streamed through the artificial sky, owls were making a fuss, and students were eagerly discussing the previous day's match at an even greater volume. It was ample torture for hangover victims.

Many of the older students without the foresight to brew, bribe or otherwise ensure their access to a cautionary hangover potion were clutching the heads in agony. It was quality entertainment for those of us in the presence of mind to appreciate it.

Spotting that deceivingly ordinary mop of brown hair, I plopped onto the bench beside Reece and slowly slid the requested butterbeer along to table until it rested in front of him.

"You wouldn't believe the trouble I went through to get that."

"Worse than spending a few minutes at a party?"

"You say that like it's a small thing." I muttered, casting my eyes ruefully upward.

But lovely Reece was no longer paying attention to my antics. Instead, as is prone to happen soon after the appearance of a delicious beverage, his stereotypically male one-track mind locked onto the object and all semblances of civility and attentiveness swiftly vanished.

Then it occurred to me. "You promised to tell me what happen between you and your Hufflepuff friends," I pointed out.

He groaned, "I need to teach you about proper application of 'Time and Place', Jenny, and a few lessons on tact wouldn't go astray."

Was I really that bad? Oops. Damn those social conventions, they're just out there to complicate everything and draw every conversation out to inappropriate lengths without permitting a point from arising. Unfortunately for the 'vocally economical', when a relevant question is posed it comes as a real shock due to the recipients affiliated with the Other Side. Yes, that's it, I'll blame society.

"It's really not that interesting," he insisted to counter my persistent staring.

"The more you avoid the question, the worse I'm going to get," I pointed out.

He caved. And glared. Ha, sweat success!

"Fine. You're aware my mother's side of the family is rather … traditional and old, yes?" He began hesitantly. "Don't get me wrong, we aren't extremists like the Dark Lord, but years ago the wizarding community was a lot tighter than it is now. After the violence between muggles and magic folk in the past, it's no surprise that many families able to trace their lines back at least four generations can have a… suspicion of muggles and a fear that they will dilute our magic."

I listened silently, my expression carefully blank, but I didn't like where that was going. It wasn't just a problem topic for Reece; prejudice wasn't a healthy subject for anyone.

"Tony is muggleborn, and our argument escalated from a discussion about wizard and muggle culture. I mentioned that some families find muggle culture inferior and repugnant, but for some reason he took that to mean that I personally found muggles, and by extension muggleborns, repulsive. One thing led to another; he was accusing me of being prejudice and you should have heard the things he was shouting about my mother."

He paused, looking at me with a mixture of guilty trepidation and profuse amounts of discomfort. He wouldn't meet my eyes. "Comments like that don't go unanswered for, I said some pretty nasty things myself."

Then his face grew more sure and determined, "I'm a Hufflepuff, Jenny, I stick out for my family. He was wrong to assume what he did, we're not evil."

"So… that's it? You accidently said something he took the wrong way, and in the climate some people are stirring up he felt easily threatened, got defensive and you called each other names?" I summed up doubtfully.

"It was worse than that, the things we said…"

I wasn't listening. I put more pieces together, my eye's widened and deadly realisation dawned, "And straight after, to prove your point you went off and became friends with the first lone muggleborn you met." _Me._

Confirmation was written all over his expression. My eyes narrowed and I waited for him to verbally confirm what I already knew, just daring him to lie to my face.

"I- yes. I admit… you're not the type of person I usually get to know, you were so shy at first, I didn't even really notice you until-"

"Are we friends now? I mean _really_?"

"Yes, of course!" He was quick to assure me.

I brushed the subject off with an impressive imitation of apathy. "Then why we met doesn't matter."

There was an awkward silence- it, apparently, wasn't fooled by my show of indifference. I broke it when curiosity got the better of me again, "Just what did you say that set him off?"

"I wondered how muggles got by without access to magic, everything would just be so much more difficult. I may have mentioned the word 'tedious'."

Ah, so there it was, the same trap that many magic families found themselves in; the belief that a lack of magic left muggles at a huge disadvantage. I had problems with that theory. Sure, muggles lacked an immediate solution to every problem, but this only meant they had to develop new methods rather than rely on the same spells that had solved everything for decades. Muggles progressed at a ridiculous rate, and if anything, they had the long term advantage. The weaponry developed in the last war alone showed just what they could do when motivated.

I was inclined to believe the cultures were just different, so different that one couldn't possible compare them by way of superiority. Magic kind would have to be careful not to underestimate them, especially since we were so vastly outnumbered.

Out dated beliefs had a tendency to get passed down, for a child would take on the ideas presented in its growing stages. Reece seemed remarkably open-minded and prejudice free, but it got me thinking. _'What else did his family tell him that he never knew enough about to question?'_

The rest of the day passed in a blur, in much the same way as the following weeks did. My patronus lessons progressed at an infuriatingly slow rate. The longer I produced only the supremely frustrating vapour, the more time I found myself spending in the library trying to understand concepts I could barely pronounce. Reece joined me most days, fooling around and generally slowing everything down. But he made things more bearable in an odd, roundabout sort of way.

Classes were getting more interesting and more difficult. In Herbology, this meant the plants were even more vicious. Not good. In the interest of my health, I should've been placed back with the Leaping Toadstools, or, better yet, with the nice muggle plants that couldn't inflict as much damage as they received. Even with Reece keeping an eye on me, I still managed to get mauled, poisoned, strangled or in other ways threatened at least once a week. And I maintain that the Venomous Tentacula was looking at me funny last lesson- it'll be after me next.

In Care of Magical Creatures, we finally left behind Porlocks and progressed to Nifflers, who were thoroughly intrigued by Snape's oily head, which naturally lead to a few finding their way into the Slytherin dorms. The blame couldn't be traced back to the Marauders, however hard Slughorn tried.

The Christmas holidays were fast approaching and I discovered it was quite difficult to walk past the list of those staying for the holidays without adding my name in all due haste. It was a hard decision to make, even if it really was the only option left to me. I had to- no, worse, I _wanted_ to give Reece a Christmas present. It was the very least he deserved as my friend. I was not a little clueless about such things, I just knew they usually involved an exchange of money for goods, both of which I had in little-to-no supply. There was an idea, though, and it would require a pickup from the Hell House. Also, some perverse and unhealthy sense of duty demanded I take some time to visit my mother, at least to find out if she still lived. One could only hope for so long, after all…

...

"Post!" Reece pointed out three days before the end of the term.

"Yes, that's what happens in the morning," I murmured absently.

I was pulled out of my thoughts by a great grey mass of feathers disturbing my toast. "Mail? Ooh, a novelty!" I uttered, adequately surprised.

"I don't think I've ever seen you get mail, hurry up and open it!"

I dodged the owl's snapping beak and untied the small but heavy note from its leg, "Watch it," I warned the over-glorified duck, "Bite me and I'll turn you into a feather duster."

"A telling threat, I'm sure," Reece snorted. The owl ruffled its feathers haughtily and ignored me completely. Then it stole my bacon and took off before I could extract me revenge. Bloody birds.

I unfurled the crumpled paper and an actual _galleon_ dropped onto the table. Written in a hasty scrawl, and in pen, oddly enough, were a few words I never expected to see assembled in that manner: _Happy birthday._

_What_ on Earth…

The moment Reece read the note over my shoulder I knew I could expect him to overlook the more surprising side of the events and instead focus on the awkward side of things. He reacted _spectacularly_.

"You didn't tell me it was your birthday!"

I winced, "It was yesterday, actually."

_Crap._

"I missed it completely?"

'_Oh, Merlin, he looks like I just kicked his puppy_._'_ I was tragically susceptible to his wounded expressions.

"Don't you dare feel guilty," I warned.

He ignored me, of course. "I'm so sorry, I'll never forget again!"

"How could you possibly forget something you didn't know?" That probably wasn't the best thing to say.

"That makes it worse; I should have known. It was your _birthday_, as your friend I'm supposed to give you gifts, I'm supposed to _care_."

'_Damn it.' _He sounded miserable. I wished he was fuming, at least then I would've had experience to draw on. I wracked my brain, trying to figure out how I could address it. Apology, explanation, reassurance? That might work, but it would require words.

"No, it's my fault. I'm sorry I didn't tell you, now I know I should have. It just… I never celebrate my birthday, I didn't tell you out of habit, honestly, usually I barely even remember. I … I know you care, alright? You certainly don't need to acknowledge one day of the year to show that."

My sad attempt at comforting him seemed to work somewhat. He shifted uneasily, but I think it was more for accepting something that went against his nature.

"I won't forget next year."

'_I know. I'm sorry.'_ I felt a twinge of guilt again, which was increasingly annoying. "Fine. Next year, the 17th of December."

I carefully tucked the note and the galleon into my pocket.

I figured that wrapped things up, and the whole situation warranted a change of subject. "Off to Divination, then?"

"Yeah," he agreed, and we made our way out of the hall. "Did you do the homework?" He seemed to appreciate the easier topic.

"That stuff about recording our dreams?" He nodded. "Nope," I admitted, properly nonchalant that time.

He snorted, shaking his head ruefully, "You're hopeless. Professor Axis said he was checking our progress this lesson."

"How? He's blind."

Reece paused, "… I concede your point."

I'm sure my smirk was insufferable, "As you should. Anyway, I don't think he'll be too annoyed, I dreamt about cheese last night, surely he can make a fuss out of that."

Reece looked skeptical. "It's just cheese. But more pressingly, it's been days since he last told me I'd die; he must be saving up for something big. I bet I'll be kindly informed of my unfortunate fate this lesson."

"Don't get _too_ excited, it's only Monday."

Things were back to normal then. It was good; normal was safe, normal I could deal with just fine. Well, as normal as things could ever get where Divination was involved.

"Today we will be examining the progress you have made with your assignments." The professor's unsettling blind gaze seemed to pass over me, settling instead on Reece. "Mr Ottoman, my poor boy, were you, perchance, warned about the terrible evil about to befall you?"

"Would this have been the dream where I was drinking tea with some Martians who wanted to take over the world with basketball?"

"Doubtfully."

"Well then, Professor, I must have missed that memo."

The teacher stood in his cloud of theatrical smoke and nodded gravely, "Unfortunately the important details of the future are often lost in an untrained sub-conscience. The inner eye clears this, and such, it is my duty to warn you about the dangers in your future regarding a hooded man with a grudge."

"Oh, come _on_!" I muttered incredulously.

The boy in question shot me a smug look and mouthed what was clearly "I told you so".

Losing a bet to Reece was unacceptable, and losing in less than five minutes was so much worse. Additionally, Professor Axis heard and didn't look impressed with my interruption. Great, I was on his hit list. Again.

I returned Reece's look with a half-hearted glare, which only caused his grin to widen astronomically. Unable to bear another moment of his snootiness, I cranked that glare up to full force and set it on the back of Axis's head.

"I feel it would be unfortunate if we didn't share some of our findings." He declared grandly, then went around the class asking for examples. There were some interesting findings; he concluded that going to the beach prophesised the eventual return of the bubonic plague, a recurring makeup disaster warned of a dangerous beast most likely with seven claws, and a swarm of giant killer butterflies promised future problems with coordination.

Eventually he stopped at me, joy of joys. "Miss Night, perhaps you could enlighten us?"

"Sure." Here read: uh oh. "In my dream I decided to pick some cheese."

"Cheese?" He didn't seem as surprised as I would've liked.

"Cheese."

He seemed frustrated by my vast eloquence. "I need details, child, what was striking about this block of cheese?"

"They grew on vines, and they were rather large."

"Perhaps this was metaphorically representing the greatly abnormal size of your growing insecurities?"

'_Now hang on, where did _that_ come from?'_

"Or maybe it was representing hunger?" I supplied. That was unusually bold of me, but I figured I was already on his hit list, I had nothing to lose by pissing him off with comprehensible answers.

His eye's narrowed slightly, "How do you draw this conclusion? Did you eat it?"

"No, Professor, I used one as a sled and rode it down a ski slope."

That threw him. "A ski slope?"

"It's a muggle thing."

"Ah, alas! That detail is the key, and it proves ill for you! I see darkness in the future-"

Reece nudged me and whispered with a roll of his eyes, "Yes, I imagine that'll happen tonight. He just predicted the imminent setting of the sun."

I hissed for him to shut up, fighting a smile.

The teacher ignored the interruption, instead choosing to continue his rant. I call favouritism, right there! "You will encounter a great struggle, one prompted by your own selfish hunger."

He was just mocking me now, but that was beside the point. I sent Reece my best vindicated grin. My personal doom predication was way cooler than his. That was what he got for underestimating the power of cheese.

"Thanks Professor," for letting me win, "for enlightening me; I knew there was something sinister in there somewhere."

He nodded grimly, "I'm afraid so, nothing is ever innocent about a block of cheese."

"Indeed, Sir." And I managed all that with a straight face, unaware that the professor had, whether accidental or not, actually made a prediction amidst all the madness of that lesson. I should've paid more attention, hindsight's a real bitch.

Reece and I split ways after the morning's lessons. I had to take a trip to my dorm to exchange books, and as such, I was walking alone when I was attacked from behind. The slight scuffle of shoe on stone caught my attention. Zealous paranoia –_justified_ zealous paranoia, mind you– caused the hairs on the back of my neck to rise a second before light erupted behind my eyelids and I got an unsettling feeling, something like cold water seemed to run down my spine.

Whirling and fumbling for my wand, I could only watch as the silhouette my assailant and their comrade vanished around the corner.

I swore after them, already dreading whatever new spell they'd found and decided to test.

"Bloody Marauders!"

'_Two arms, two legs, ten fingers, no horns, hair present, no additional appendages or technicoloured skin.'_ I mentally calculated with practiced ease. With no outward signs of maiming, I concluded that the spell either hadn't worked (unlikely) or the effects were of a different nature. I could be doomed to speaking in iambic pentameter, compulsively insult anyone in sight, eat only broccoli, or sing nursery rhymes in Latin for the rest of the day. Merlin only knew. I would just have to wait and juggle the likely violent side effects accordingly.

I was stumped when I reached the Great Hall and found my feet refused to cross the threshold. Frowning, I wondered down to the nearest class room, then the toilets. All rejected my entry. Fan-bloody-tastic.

'_Oh, I bet they just think they're so funny.'_ I seethed, glowering at the dull wooden door, as if my stare alone would reduce it to a smouldering pile of ashes. It didn't, and the longer I stood there, the more aware I became of the growling of my stomach.

I wondered how the professors would react when I stood outside their classrooms all lesson, or how I was supposed to get into the library or hospital wing to get the hex lifted. With a start, I realised I wouldn't be able to get into my dormitory. I may even be barred from the common room.

Snarling and grumbling, my hands clenched into fists. I took a swing at the nearest suit of armour, and the resulting clang reverberated down the empty hallway. One fist now supported a dull ache, but overall I felt slightly better. Rule one to therapeutic violence: hitting something helps.

The visored helm creaked as it turned to look down at me, probably with something akin to reproach, and my scowl deepened. "What're you looking at? Be grateful I didn't set fire to something, Tin Man."

I bet if the thing had eyebrows it would've raised one, but I shook my head, clearing the ridiculous mental image from existence.

"Are you Ok?" A small hesitant voice called.

I spun and froze. The small rounded boy was doubtlessly Peter Pettigrew, just the minion I wanted to see.

"Black. Potter. Where are they?" I stalked down the corridor to stand right in front of him and he, to his credit, only backed away a few steps. The Marauders must've been conditioned to my anger even then.

"They're, um, in the Great Hall."

I swore quite impressively. (What? It's true that you learn a lot in school).

Peter shifted uncomfortably, then met my eyes, seemingly having decided something. "Did they hex you too?"

"Too?"

He smiled crookedly, "If you're being repelled by doors, you can thank the Slytherins. They accidently taught Sirius, and of course he and James thought it was hilarious. I might've been their first victim." He actually _laughed_ fondly, for some reason, I just blinked in bewilderment.

Noticing my look, he smiled again. "This isn't so bad, last week Remus had tentacles growing out of his ears."

"The fact that you can put a positive spin on this for that reason is just sad." I mumbled, backing away and rubbing my temples in an effort to chase away the madness.

Pettigrew seemed to relax as I calmed down. "It keeps me on my toes, besides, it's all harmless-"

My stomach gave another huge gurgle.

"Hungry?" He queried innocently.

"Obviously."

He looked extremely sympathetic, but I guess he, of all people, would. But he soon perked up again, "We'll go to the kitchens!"

I hadn't thought of that. "But the portrait…"

"Is technically a hole in the wall. Come on, I starving too."

Dragging my feet at the mere thought of the horrors ahead, I followed the smallest of my sworn enemies.

"Why does Black relentlessly provoke me?" I asked when I drew level with Peter. "He seems to have some fetish with breaking every rule just because he can."

He hummed thoughtfully, "It's not just for the sake of it. I suppose you wouldn't know much about traditional Purebloods, would you?"

My grunt sufficed as an answer, but I couldn't resist muttering, "Why does it always come back to blood in this place?"

"Blood? No, more like culture. Old fashioned culture, I guess. Sirius is more of a… revolutionary Pureblood," He smirked at that, "Coming here was freedom after years of having rules and expectations limiting everything he did. He doesn't like the expectations so he rebels against them constantly. It helps that he's rather good at it."

"What about the rest of you?"

He shrugged. "It's fun."

Conflicting thoughts fought it out in my head. _'Black. Expectations, burden, rules. Control, duty. Fight. White. Sirius, liberation: _Rebel_.'_

A conclusion arose from the chaos, and it was startling. Merlin save me, for the first time in History, I actually understood Sirius Black.

There was a pregnant pause, in which my stomach complained again. "Let's just get down to that food."

Peter smiled to himself. I bet that little bugger knew _exactly_ what he'd done.

The spell wore off a few hours later. I only missed one and a half classes, but Professor Vance was less than empathetic, setting me a huge essay to make up for everything I'd missed, and then some. I just couldn't catch a break.

The next morning Reece awaited my arrival at the Hufflepuff table. He couldn't sit still: legs bounced, feet tapped, hands toyed with cutlery, a broad grin was on his face one moment and a worried frown the next.

I was immediately suspicious. Stopping a safe distance away, my arms crossed and an eyebrow lifted inquiringly. "Alright, where's the body?"

"Jenny," He gasped, clutching at his heart in mock horror, "Do you really think so little of me?"

"I have faith you'd have the sense to confess the whole situation in an only mildly loud tone." I dropped into a whisper.

"No one died."

"Grievously injured?"

"No, but-"

"Severely traumatised?"

"No."

Heaving a disappointed sigh, I waved a brazen hand in his general direction. "Fine, shoot."

He shifted in his seat, uncharacteristically focused on his closed fists. Lips twitching only slightly, I continued to stare him down in silence.

"I-er… well, I have something for you." He finally blurted, pushing something green into my line of sight. "I felt terrible that you didn't get any presents for your birthday but I couldn't go to Hogsmeade to get anything and I didn't want to have to wait any longer for owl post, so I made you something."

He offered the green thing with wide, searching eyes. My hand stretched out robotically and the almost weightless gift dropped into my palm. My incredulous eyes took in a small and simple bracelet of interwoven flowers and grasses.

"I spoke to my brother, he said girls like flowers. I got him to spell it, too, so they don't die. Do you like flowers? Oh, no, you don't! I'm sorry, this was a bad idea, I'll just go now–"

It felt oddly right to launch myself at him, tackling him in a huge hug that almost sent us both toppling over. His arms reflexively, if awkwardly and clumsily, moved from the lifeless appendages hanging off his shoulders to encircle me. I could practically _feel_ my personal space bubble burst with a decisive and final pop.

It was rather embarrassing for everyone.

I didn't care in the slightest.

"Thank you, thank you." It was my turn to ramble, but I was less than creative with my words. Too bad; it got the point across.

I pulled away, suddenly too aware of the contact. Actual _human_ contact. Wow, a life hurdle overcome, a few years too late, but still.

"Oh. So, you like it?" He managed after clearing his throat. He was beaming, but his face was an amazing shade of scarlet. I laughed.

If that was how it felt to be one of those ditzy happy girls, well, it wasn't so bad, just this once.

I was still glowing in time for my extra Defence lesson that afternoon. Professor Vance noticed, a reedy eyebrow ascended into her hairline, but she didn't comment on my uncharacteristic mood.

"In yesterday's essay topic I trust you noticed the discrepancies in the non-Newtonian energy fields between the corporeal and non-corporeal patronuses." She got straight down to business, as always. Her no-nonsense attitude and refusal to oblige to the useless social norm of 'small talk' was one of the reasons I grew to respect her immensely.

I nodded, kicking my brain back into focus. "Of course. The non-Newtonian field is very defined in a corporeal patronus, which allows positive energy to give it tangible form since, like non-Newtonian fluids that solidify under pressure, the energy condenses when force presses against the constraints of its field. And, um, I'm not really sure what force exactly…"

"Think, child," she said, her voice beseeching, "There are negative forces everywhere: magnets, grass, the aura a Dementor emits. How would you explain this?"

That jogged a memory and reshuffled my thoughts into a more helpful deck. "Forces have direction?"

"Much better. Now, tell me, what tends to happen when magic becomes upset or agitated?"

"It changes, sometimes lashing out, it becomes more energetic."

"And since it usually rebels and goes against its intended direction, we consider it negative. The amount of negative force in the near surroundings mainly determines the strength of the patronus, that is why, if the caster is focused, the spells works just as effectively against ten Dementors as it does against one. It gives the shield it's 'kick', if you will."

"Oh, I actually _get_ it!"

Professor Vance smiled. Pride. Reece's gift, his care, the hug, Reece's smile. Happiness.

"Expecto patronum!"

A silver light shot of my wand, much stronger and more decisive than anything I'd produced before. It shifted and finally a form emerged, circling the room on vaporous wings. My wand hummed in response, it felt alive and eager, in a way I'd never experienced before. From within me, my own magic resonated the same tune and the crescendo filled the air, crackling with frightening power. The drain was instantaneous; my energy deserted me as the requirements of the spell quickly spent my magical reserves.

I watched a little wistfully as the patronus –the _corporeal_ patronus, I might add– was reduced to wisps and eventually vanished. It was gone as soon and as quickly as it came, but the room remained strewn with almost tangibly residual magic.

"Do you need to sit down?" Vance asked, brows creasing into a frown.

"Huh?" I was too busy trying to etch that image into my retinas to notice I had been swaying unsteadily. "Oh, um, maybe for a moment."

Suddenly aware of how dizzy I was, I sank into the nearest chair, sluggish and exhausted. "Well _that's_ irritating. Will this happen every time?"

"It doesn't usually, to my knowledge. But you have just used a lot of magic and you are young. Your magic reserves are still shallow, but they grow with you. Eventually it will become easier and you will be able to use even more arduous spells."

"Hmmm," I allowed, fighting to keep my eyes open.

"Did you see it properly?"

"Sort of. Definitely a bird, not an overly small one, maybe a crow?"

"I think it is a pigeon."

Flattering. "Just so long as it's not dove." That would be _embarrassing_.

"Technically, pigeons and doves are the same type of bird. Although, they would represent and highlight slightly different aspects of one's nature."

"That's something I never really understood from the books. How does an _animal_ reflect a personality?"

"Wizards have long attached connotations to animals, it depends more on the expectation of the animal than the animal itself. For example, a dove would symbolise a slightly higher emphasis on love."

"Definitely _not_ a dove then." _Thank Merlin's blessed pants._

She looked slightly amused. "Perhaps not."

"If I wanted to be an Animagus one day, I would be that bird, a pigeon, yes?"

"That is often the case, but the Animagus reflects the soul of a person while a patronus is its heart, and such things are often much more malleable and variant, depending on the person. Life experience has a habit of changing outlook and personality, and the patronus changes with it." She explained patiently. "You would almost certainly be some sort of bird, barring any drastic self-reimaging. I suppose that is why you did this?"

I nodded slowly, "At the start. But it became more about just proving that I could."

Professor Vance graced me with a rare smile. "This shows you much about yourself, not the least that you can accomplish much when you set your mind to it. Some people are born gifted, but any of us, though we start behind, can work to become talented, which is even better."

"I'll get on it, Professor."

I bid her a good evening, then, when my legs were once again working in collaboration with my central control system, I practically skipped from the room. I'm afraid it wasn't my finest moment.

The balance between enthusiasm and exhaustion was finally tipped halfway through the Common Room, however. Hauling myself up the girls' staircase, I had never been more aware of how many stairs lay between me and my bed. Forty-six suddenly held a whole new value.

I didn't bother myself with all those unnecessary exercises, including getting out of my uniform, I just flopped gracelessly onto my bed, spelled the hangings shut and told myself I'd pack in the morning, reasoning that I could probably survive without the half of my belongings I would surely forget until after Christmas.

As predicted, I slept in and the morning was a little rushed- Professor Axis would've been proud of my intuition. I missed breakfast entirely, in the end, but made it down to the station with minutes to spare. Overall, more successful than expected.

The Hogwarts express waited impatiently in the sun and students passed like water either side of me. I closed my eyes, blocking the gleaming steam engine from my sight, reminding myself that it was just for a week. I forced my legs to move forward, reasoning that it couldn't be _that_ bad.


	10. Chapter 9

The sense of impending dread intensified the closer the Express got to the station. The weather accurately reflected my mood. The sky darkened and distant thunder ominously promised a long and painful journey home, just to spice up the plot.

You know what happens next, right? Things take a turn for the worst. I mean, _of course_ they do; my higher than usual level of optimism and noble intentions _alone_ guaranteed that. Anyone able to string together more than ten brain cells could have worked that out. Alas, a significant proportion of the people I know would be hard pressed to reach those demands, but no matter.

I savoured the last moments of relative bliss over a game of exploding snap in the compartment Reece and I shared with a pair of second year Ravenclaw boys. I smiled at the appropriate places, put in my two words when the conversation demanded it, but my head was elsewhere.

Listening with half an ear, I vaguely remember Reece threatening me with the wrath of his family owl, Barnacle, if I didn't reply to his letters, while I piled water repelling charms on my trunk and cloths. Then I regretfully stowed my wand where it would stay until I was back in the society where I belonged.

The afternoon began well.

_Deceptively_ well.

I even had enough change left over after the bus fare to grab myself a cheap chocolate bar which I ate slowly, savouring the taste, while lounging under cover waiting for the predictably foul weather to pass. Subsequent hours later, and it still had not. That may be interpreted as the first sign. It was bucketing down a horribly sleety concoction; heavier and colder than water, but not quite snow. My favourite.

The snow/rain wasn't so bad, I figured; better than remaining on the storefront of the sleazy shop owner, anyway. It was freezing. More ice than snow, for sure, but my remarkably water resistant cloths kept the ice from melting and trickling inside.

Scrap disagreed. Incidentally, I had managed to convince the anal feline to put up with my company over the break. I was basking in the outcome of my triumph; claws and teeth marks everywhere. I should've left him at Hogwarts instead of forcing him to shelter in my trunk. Really, who knew _what_ he was eating in there; bat spleen… essence of mutant feline. But I didn't haggle with my karma, aloud at least, that would've put further question on my metal stability.

The background noise the storm presented was constant and, thankfully, distracting. It dampened the sound, but the peace-shattering squeal of car tires was still a rather unwelcome intrusion. I moved closer to the gutter, hoping that the driver wouldn't be as inconsiderate as the last clout that hooned past with a wave of gritty puddle slosh.

Red break lights flared in my line of sight. I slowed and apprehension began to curl uncomfortably in my gut. A door slammed – another loud, alien noise. Not good.

The approaching figure was indistinguishable in the dark, blanketing sleet. I guessed it was a man, though a comparatively short and rather round one. I considered bolting as he fumbled with the umbrella he'd produced from who-cares-where, but the miniature Gryffindor in me held my ground. Funny how often inner stupidity reigns supreme, isn't it?

"Hello there, what are you doing out in this weather? Where are your parents?" The man – policeman, I mentally corrected with a grumble when he entered the range proper sight – stopped within shouting distance (a couple of feet or so) and fruitlessly tried to shield us both with the one small umbrella.

I shuffled uneasily. Authority figures had never really played a positive part in my upbringing. Logically, I knew police were supposed to help people, but in my neighbourhood one heard far more criticism than praise. In the end, I decided against following the advice of the man from number 12 and boxing swiftly for his ears. I was too small to pull that off.

"Hello," I replied slowly but politely, "I'm just walking home. My mother couldn't pick me up."

"Do you mind telling me what's in the trunk?"

'_Oh great, they probably think I robbed someone_.' I was mildly insulted. If I was going to steal, I wouldn't be so pathetically obvious about it. I settled for the honest, provable approach and widened by eyes to play up my apparent innocence.

"My school supplies." He didn't look very willing to believe me. Damn acting skills needed work. "I go to a boarding school in Scotland, I'm going home for the holidays."

Most of the suspicion on his face vanished, replaced instead by the more infuriating emotion of _concern_.

"Is your home far? I couldn't possible condemn a child to this ghastly weather, come along, we'll give you a lift."

I hate good Samaritans. I could go with them and endure immense discomfort, or I not and look mighty suspicious. The police could even think to check my trunk for stolen goodies after all, and wouldn't _that_ just be fun to explain. The parchment, while a little weird to muggles, would at least sit within my story, but the spell books? Potions ingredients? _Wand?_

Rock, meet Hard Place.

I began compiling excuses while trying to outwardly convey a whole lot of gratitude I didn't feel. Well, at least I did get out of the storm.

The second policeman and designated driver helped me get my trunk into the back, remarking on how remarkably light it was, ("Cheep leather." Mhmm, not a slight lightening charm, nope, not at all.) and introduced himself as Officer Brown. As if I cared. Honestly, the _audacity_ of some people.

Pointless exchange of pleasantries later, then came the question I was actually looking forward to. "So, where are headed?"

"Cheshires End." The cops exchanged a Look. "You're familiar with it?" I queried, for all they knew, innocently.

"Oh, just the usual." Cop 1 evaded casually. I disguised my snort as a cough.

It wasn't a long drive, but the following ten minutes was filled with one of the heaviest uncomfortable silences I'd ever brought crashing down on other people. I was almost proud.

I had to suppress my snigger as the rozzers became more alert the moment we entered my neighbourhood, but I managed to maintain my childish façade and direct them to my driveway.

"Well, thanks for the lift, have a good afternoon." I was eager to see the last of them, but they didn't seem to share my enthusiasm.

"Are you sure you are going to be all right? The house looks deserted."

Sparing a glance, I realised he was right. Sort of. It'd always been a rundown dump, but I admit it was a little more… decayed than usual. And was that a broken window? Interestingly, not even the one I accidently put my fist through last summer.

"Mum's a messy person, it'll be fine." I idly reassure them. The slam of doors diverted the rest of my attention from the perusal of my home. "Hey, what're you doing?"

"We'd feel better if we were sure there is someone there to take care of you." Cop One smiled encouragingly. I bet they just didn't believe I was actually coming home from boarding school.

I shrugged, mostly ignoring them. It wasn't as if I was in any position to stop them.

The front door was, once again, jammed, but the back was unlocked. That was brave of her.

"Have you heard from you mother recently?" Cop de la Marrón questioned in concern from over my shoulder. Honestly, the inside wasn't that bad. I'd expected worse. Maybe wall paint of the mouldy variety to brighten up the inner decor.

"I sent her a letter last week."

"Did she write back?"

Damn police. "Would _you_ be able to find writing paper in this house?" Oops, that was a little snide of me.

"Hello?" Brown's voice bellow shattered the relative silence, making me wince. No answer. Cold dread settled solidly in the pit of my stomach, and it was there to stay. I said goodbye to any chance of the police leaving me in peace.

"You don't mind if we wait for you mum to turn up, do you?" The police exchanged significant glances over my head. I gave a resigned sigh and another shrug.

"Suit yourselves."

They hung around for several more hours, waiting for someone who never arrived.

I worked around them; honing in on and eventually gathering together all of my drawings, pencils and I even sourced an eraser. Will miracles never cease? I could barely get my trunk closed again, but that was more because a psychotic cat was making himself comfortable amongst my underwear, so they joy was of the short-lived variety.

The clock ticked over to the early hours of the morning. Whether or not that was even a remotely accurate representation of time remained another matter entirely. After clearing off a pile of odd socks, I lounged across the couch (that wasn't there three months ago. Wonder if she pinched it from a neighbour?). I eyed the two men, heads bowed together in terse discussion. I was slightly curious as to what they made of the whole situation, but more fervently, I wished they'd just leave.

I didn't know where Night Sr. was. Like I'd informed the police, I had warned her I'd be dropping in briefly. Maybe that warning was a mistake. The whole 'pleasant surprise and duck the shoe' approach may have been better at convincing the police I wasn't an abandoned minor, in retrospect. Of all the impeccable bloody timing…

Or maybe she was just 'out'. She'd been leaving more often in recent years, after all. Complete coincidence. Yeah. Right. Oh, who am I kidding, I'd totally been abandoned. And I loved it. It'd be mighty convenient, actually, if not for the pair of sympathetic inconveniences imposing on my glorious solitude.

Cops One and Two chose then to interrupt. "Do you have any idea where your mum is?"

The gutter? I shook my head.

"Any other relations?"

I almost rolled my eyes. "Not that I've met."

Cop Two frowned in, I think it was pity? Nasty emotion, that.

"You understand we can't leave you alone in good conscience." I'd feared as much. It was probably against some law somewhere. Reluctant nod. I got the feeling I'd just sealed my doom.

"And we'll have to take you back to the station now until we can find somewhere for you to stay until we can locate your mother?" In response to that, I really did groan. '_How unseemly, Reece would be scandalised_.' I grinned fondly at that thought, earning a weird look from Officer Brown.

The local station was old and a little grungy. Too tired to acknowledge my dignity, I found a corner, curled up behind my trunk and fell asleep.

The next moment (in reality, a few hours later) I was prodded awake by a too friendly lady. After grudgingly thanking her, more for social necessity than any semblance of gratitude, I was forced to endure her painful company through a looong breakfast in the station tea room. She seemed convinced that every spare moment had to be filled with words. I ground my teeth and practiced nodding at the right moments, practically exuding patience.

I gave up before ten minutes had passed. Yes, I was counting.

After that, I just stared at the brown watery tea in my cup and wondered if there was any way I could use it to get commit untraceable murder. No such luck. I was forced to accept that only idiots of the Marauder calibre would be able to attempt such a thing.

My stubborn silence didn't translate overly well to my company. She seemed to believe I was the picture of terribly depressed youth, rather than a future serial killer. It was painful, I tell you.

A whole eternal, eighteen minutes later, Officer Brown made a reappearance and waved me over. I launched myself from my seat, pausing only to send a smile at Ms Whatever. She looked mildly frightened, but, after all, I was picturing her head on a pike, so I can imagine my grin turned out slightly sinister.

They hadn't found her yet. Apparently a team had gone through the house but were unable to find any hint as to her whereabouts. Brown explained slowly and soothingly, to the point of extreme irritation, that they had arranged for me to stay in the nearby 'St Catherine's Children's Home for the Orphaned' until more suitable accommodation presented itself. It sounded ominous.

I had to answer question upon question about my family to assist them with finding _somewhere_ to dump me. I was quite willing – the faster they found me some quiet place to stay, the faster I could slip away. The information confused them for a while. They had to ask me five times whether I'd spelled my mum's name properly when they could find no record of her in their big bulky computer thing. They finally had to concede that their records may not be complete. It all amounted to pretty much nothing. I knew very little about what relations I may have on my mother's side, and even less about my father's. Hell, I was partially convinced he was a wizard, in which case the muggle police had no chance of finding him. I'd resigned myself to the fact that I'd be assigned to an orphanage after I was only able to stare blankly in response to questions such as 'what were your parents' maiden names?'

They expected me to act like an actual thirteen year old, hurriedly dragging me around to even the smallest machine and explaining in low, secretive voices about its modern features, mistaking me vague amusement as interest.

I was almost relieved when the car pulled up on the curb in front of a blindingly sterile white building. The police made the situation worse by explaining my situation to an aging lady in a flowery frock as if she hadn't already been informed. I bet they did it just so they could punctuate the conversation with pathetic simpering looks in my direction. Surely they couldn't have been blind to my frustration; I was scowling very openly, having given up hiding my displeasure hours ago.

They didn't appear willing to stop anytime soon, so I decided not to grace them with my attention. The apparent obsessive cleanliness extended to the interior of the building. The halls were bare and clear, no sign or sound of children anywhere. It was lunch time, so they were probably amazing in a cafeteria or something. I found myself thoroughly disinterested and displeased with everything; from the state of spotlessness to the fact that I was forced into an orphanage when there was a perfectly good empty house calling my name.

It didn't get better. Brown, and the last chance of him changing his mind, walked out the door. The orphanage matron (I believe I may have been introduced to her at some point, Mrs W-something) immediately dropped her motherly image and a stern drill-Sargent replaced her. Thank freaking Merlin.

"The others are in the refectory. Come, quickly now."

I dragged my feet as slowly as I dared, feigning difficulty lugging my trunk, which hissed loudly when jostled. Mrs W was not impressed with the time it took to coax my reluctant form into the next room. It was filled with children from toddlers to elder teenagers.

"You will eat here three times a day; 7:30, 11:00 and dinner is at 6:00. Do not be late." The matron's tone welcomed no argument. "Lights out is at 8:30, I'll have someone show you around. Anklemire!"

A blond of more or less fifteen years shot to her feet immediately, a look of reverence on her face. "Yes, ma'am Winsidor?" Ugh, I could practically _feel_ the suck up radiating off her.

I sped out of that room as soon and quickly as I could, and probably before common courtesy permitted. Ah well. Blondie had to run to catch up, and almost assuredly broke a hundred of her personal virtues in the process. That knowledge kept me content through five minutes of the constant commentary I'd deemed inessential and subsequently not worth my time or my eardrums.

"Look," I interrupted. Since when did she start reciting the breakfast menu for every second Tuesday? Whatever, I stopped in front of her, halting our slow progress. "I just need to know where I can sleep, the route to the toilets and outside. I'm only staying here for a couple days." _If I have anything to say about it._

Anklemire looked own her upturned nose at me. "Fine." She sniffed imperiously. Huh, I must have insulted her sensibilities again. But no matter, I got things my way.

The building wasn't all that large, but the girls' wing was on the far side, the furthest possible point from the boys'. Honestly, it's like they didn't _trust_ us!

The beds were small and there were two per room, which was sparsely furnished, with only a dresser between the beds, topped with a lamp and opposing a bookshelf supporting more fiddly toys than books. At least it had a conveniently large window.

More pressingly, I'd memorised the way out. I released the yowling beast and stored my trunk as far out of sight under the unclaimed bed as I could, before making my way to the backyard. It was pretty bland. Cement lined a small section of oval, while pockets of dead brown grass poked through the icy grey sludge that had fallen the previous afternoon and destroyed the former picturesque fluffy snow that usually took up residence in winter.

A skeletal, equally bland tree stood in a corner against a high fence. Too high for a scrawny kid to toss a relatively heavy, even when lightened, trunk over. And there was no gate, either. Hmm, looked like I'd be going through the window after all. Evaluation complete, the chilly 3⁰C put me off an extended exploration and exposure to the elements.

Taking off so soon could be problematic. The police would be informed and actively searching for me and dodging them would only be possible for so long. I was fairly confident I could manage for a day or maybe two, but when they caught up with me they'd be sure to put me in someplace far harder to get out of. I decided to bide my time. Maybe my mother would show up and I would get out early. If not, I'd wait until the eve of my return to Hogwarts and then camp out on 9¾ until the train arrived. Easy. Satisfied that I had confirmed my game plan, I returned indoors. I knew I would loathe the other kids, but it would be bearable for a few days. Taking off immediately would be more trouble than it was worth. Well, that was the theory, anyway.


End file.
